DWDDT2 More Darkness
by VAPX007
Summary: Drake Mallard's dealings with S.H.U.S.H. take an unexpected turn, and Jim Starling figures out how to get his new character to the top. Follows directly on from 'Your Heart is in My Lunch Box'. Rated T for grim and gritty.
1. Director of SHUSH

_Disclaimer: No ownership, only story._

_A/n: This story is a T rated continuation of _"Your Heart is in My Lunch Box"_. _

* * *

**More Darkness**

* * *

**7**

**Director of S.H.U.S.H.**

* * *

Drake woke to daylight streaming onto his face. He sat up, gathering his strength. There was a white folded page sitting on the bedside table. He picked it up and read the brief scribbling on it.

"Braille lessons when you're up for it."

He rubbed his head. "Yeah, I'm more worried about what my health chart has to say right now." Maybe it was at the end of his bed like in the movies. He clambered down and looked over the bed end. Upside down he read the chart. "Guess I'm fine..." He straightened up, looking around him at the empty beds. With the morning light shining in, this had to be the most pleasant room in the whole building. He spied his fedora on the back of the chair that was poking out behind the side table. He stood up and placed it on his head.

The room was so silent, warm and bright after his last memories of the fluoro-lit, mechanical world of the lab.

"This is surreal..." He couldn't shake the weird feeling as he stepped toward the door.

* * *

He opened the door and stepped out. "Oh, no!" He groaned, his feet feeling the familiar double-woven brown carpet and his eyes meeting the uncomfortable closeness of the familiar faded white blank wall.

"Not the corridor again." He rubbed his face, fighting off the anxiety that had been building up over the weeks. "Get me out of here." He got his feet to start moving him in a direction. "I hate this place. I'm starting to hate this place. What did she do to me? What 'did' she do to me?"

* * *

Drake found himself at the central staircase of the building.

"Ah, Darkwing Duck." Called the heavily accented, deep voice of the tall agent that had been with Director Hooter that other time. The one from his dad's army photograph.

"Excellent!" The agent appreciated, walking up to him. "I am Assistant Director Vladimir Goodenov Grizlykoff."  
"Sir?" Before Drake could find any more words, Grizlykoff spoke again.  
"Come, please follow me."

Drake stepped after him down the stairs. Grizlykoff led him back towards the labs.

"Sir, can I... ask for some, well, anything really. About Doctor Sara Bellum?"  
"She is a genius, she is also very high in rank compared to you, and I suggest you remember that fact."  
Drake frowned. "More rank stuff, right. I realise I'm being a bit slow at all this."

"Is difficult to tell of cookie by looking at crumb."  
"Oo! I'd love to do one of those. A real unidentified biscuit. I mean, I see your point, sir."  
Grizlykoff opened the next door and Drake stepped into a corridor with entirely windowed walls.

"Wh-huh?" He looked at the greenery on either side. "Well, this was definitely not here in 1880."  
"It is merely a secure access point to our training facilities." Grizlykoff gestured ahead of them.

"Training facilities?!" Free of corridors? Yes please! Physical activity? Yes please!

"You are interested?" Grizlykoff chuckled, as he considered Drake's expression. "If you were not jumping out of feathers by now you would not be father's son."

"Thank you, sir." Drake smiled gratefully, looking in amazement at Grizlykoff. What a wonderful, blessed savior. "You fought in Ducklehoff?"  
"Ya." Grizlykoff smiled back, "You have learned filing and mission protocol, now you do training for real world problem." They walked to the far end of the corridor.

* * *

Grizlykoff opened the door.

"Alright!" Drake dashed in excitedly after Grizlykoff. The obstacle course was decorated to match differing landmarks, streets, intersections and roofing situations of St Canard. It was massive! "Now we're talking!"  
"No, now you are running. I will time you and then we shall see how good you really are, Darkwing Duck." Grizlykoff waved him over to what was heavily marked as the starting line.

Drake ran the course, feeling flushed with Grizlykoff's much needed encouragement. Since he'd been doing that filing, he'd missed the excitement, the peaceful quiet, the open space, the tight corners. The obstacle course made him remember St Canard; and how much he really loved it.

* * *

When Drake finished and returned to Grizlykoff, however, the assistant director had been joined by Director Hooter. Goodness only knew how long he'd been standing there. The presence of Hooter left Drake wordless. There was a feeling in the air like the aftermath of a storm. He mutely saluted the pair.

Hooter sighed. "You have the makings of a good field agent, Darkwing. You... have shown tenacity and an inquiring mind."

Drake breathed, fighting off the fear rising up inside him. That was it? That was all the positive things this guy could say about him? Was he that terrible? No dedication, no initiative, no organisational skills, no points in attention to detail? Not even a fitness point for completing an obstacle course tougher than the army's? He took a calming breath.  
"Excuse me, sir," Drake absolutely needed to assert himself now, "but national employment regulations clearly state that you can't fire me without giving me a fair chance to fix whatever it is I'm short on, sir."

"We're not firing you, Darkwing." Hooter sighed. "We'd simply like you to take a week off from Darkwing Duck. And S.H.U.S.H.. You've racked up a lot of time in lieu in the short space of your employment."

Drake breathed in sharply, staring at Hooter in absolute horror: That was counter-intuitive! No 'holiday' would get him the grades needed for Hooter's approval. Breathe, slowly, Drake.

"Sir," Grizlykoff interceded in a calm pleasant tone that made Drake wish there was only Grizlykoff to deal with. "He is not squad. More explanation is needed."

Hooter cringed. "It's not a hard order, Darkwing; it's a mental health recommendation." Hooter sighed, "Drake Mallard happens to be a very worthwhile person and we don't want to see anything untoward happen to him."

Drake was struck by the realisation that this guy couldn't act. He felt uneasy hearing a line with such hollow delivery. "So is that why you're holding onto the Green Ganderino file? You're using it as a reference case?"

Hooter blinked at him. "Goodness, why do you continually seek to dramatise such a simple thing?"

Drake frowned. 'Because it's Protocol 1?' Too condescending. 'Because shared knowledge is vital to the integrity of S.H.U.S.H. and the continued safety of its agents?' Too arrogant. Stay polite, stay polite. 'Because you're withholding information that could be useful for other investigations?' No, that was an accusatory...

"Perhaps-."

"That's..." Drake interrupted, forcing Hooter to give him another moment.

"...It's not the best thing you can do, sir. Someone else could use that information. Maybe not today. Maybe it was yesterday. Maybe it'll be tomorrow. Whatever happened to the Green Ganderino? It shouldn't remain a secret."

Hooter watched him for a few moments as though expectant. "You are quite the parochial sort."

Yes, new personality point! He'd successfully demonstrated his dedication to the S.H.U.S.H. value system. He'd have to look up the word.

"Well, since you've been doing such a good job, perhaps I can lend them to you for scanning. I do want the hard copies back, mind you, I've spent thirty years knowing exactly where to look for what." He looked to Grizlykoff, "You wanted to do a combat training exercise, Assistant Director?"

"There is no urgency, sir; since we are not giving him case till return."  
Hooter immediately turned to leave, taking a rapid step.  
Grizlykoff nodded at Drake, "Have good holiday, Darkwing Duck."  
"Thanks, sir." Drake smiled. "You too, with... whatever you're doing." He blushed and hurried after Director Hooter.

* * *

The trip through the corridors following behind Hooter was suspenseful. "I'm so keen to get these files in." He said to himself, clearing the grim feeling from his insides so he could think better.

"You do have a lot of curiosity."

By now, Drake already had a fair idea of what he was going to find in the files. The real issue here was Hooter's disrespect for Protocol 1. And the fact that Drake had needed to fight Hooter so hard only opened up the floor for other issues.

Hooter showed him through his cabinets.

With great alacrity, Drake made off with the first one to the filing room.

* * *

When Drake came back, Hooter looked up to him over his computer screen.

"I'm sorry that your employment experience with us has proven less than you expected. 'Boring' tends to be the norm, rather than the exception around here."

"Bored? I'm not bored..."

"Oh, well, I am glad then. How do you intend to manage your holiday?"

Drake flinched, "I don't know? Read some eh... crime fiction, hang out with my-washing! Heh, really falling apart. My apartment. Is falling apart. Need to clean out my... fridge; I spent a few too many nights here, You know how it is with bananas! Heh. Not like I haven't seen you here after hours. What's up with us, huh? All... not having a life and... stuff."

Hooter nodded, "Erm... It... sounds... pleasant. A peaceful break, I suppose."

Drake shrugged the tension off and took away the next file.

When he came back he tried being a little less intrusive and quietly got the next folder. He wondered if he'd survive another question; if he'd toughen up or break.

Another two files and the last of the loose ends were tied: The SplasherQuack, The Green Ganderino; their lives' work and their last dismal and fated ends returned to the distant history they belonged. Drake quietly returned to Hooter's office with the last file. "Sir, that's the last of them, and safely back in the places you like to find them, too."

"Well, thank you."

"Yep." Drake added with particularity, "our field agents will be a whole lot safer now." He smiled at Hooter.

Hooter gazed at him for a split second too long. "You said you enjoy reading crime fiction."

Drake hesitated, "Uh, well I always like the bit about bringing the state of injustice back to lawful order."

Hooter blinked.

"Since it's what you're interested in, I'd like to hear your opinion of the decision I made."

Drake paused, "On...?" The Green Ganderino, right? Because Darkwing Duck was like him and more stuff on corruptibility?

"SplasherQuack."

Wrong.

Hooter frowned. "I had two merciless options to choose from. Would you have chosen differently?"

"No." Drake shook his head. "You took the option that could get you another option. It just came with a very low chance for success. I'm sorry you..." He caught himself. "You really cared for her, I see that."

"I'm not sure how much of her came through in her files." Hooter sighed, looking over at the cabinet with the file.

"She saved thousands of lives." Drake offered.

Hooter's voice grew small and peculiar, "SplasherQuack never even considered the possibility of failure. That. Is how good she was." Hooter sighed, collecting himself. "And now here you are." He smiled wanly at Drake. "Doctor Bellum, I think, wanted to see you?"

"Doctor Bellum wants to teach me some Braille."  
"That's good. We can't have one of our agents going around unarmed."

Another scripted line delivered with hollow unfeeling. Drake closed the door behind him, a great pit of fear growing in his stomach.


	2. Doctor Bellum

**More Darkness**

* * *

**8**

**The Dark Mystery of Doctor Bellum**

* * *

Uneasy, Drake went back to the labs. His pass card worked on the metal door as well and he was inside. He took a second glance at his card, wondering how many doors his current access level could actually open.

A cloud of purple smoke surrounded him, catching him by surprise.

"Can you fire a gun?"

"No, I c-." He coughed. "Psychology and tactical planning are the real weapons."  
"I see." Sara smiled at him through the dissipating smoke and gave a shrug, "So you don't want the gas gun?"

Well, of course he did! Drake raised an eyebrow.

"What did you do to me earlier? With the blinding light, and me waking up an entire hour of my life missing?"  
"We were mainly scanning for conjunctive misnomers and chemical deficiencies. Life does like throwing bowls of lemons around."

She started walking off.

Drake clenched his teeth, looking desperately at what she was walking away from. "Uh, gas gun?" He pointed to it.  
"You can't read braille?"  
"It's just pattern recognition." Drake discounted tempestuously, "How hard can it be?"

He was inclined to follow her regardless and found himself staring at a new Darkwing Duck outfit. "Oo, nice; styling back a bit."  
"This isn't about fashion... although..."  
"It's totally about 'fashion', Doctor Bellum." He chuckled. "Heard my fanboy requests, huh?"  
"The chief difficulty is getting a balance between tanking, and maneuverability. The way you did the obstacle course-."  
"That wasn't even three hours ago!" He exclaimed, narrowing an eye. "You're a little too good."  
"Why, thank you. Anyway, as I was saying, you have some bullet protection in the skivvy, but only for glancing shots." She pulled the costume off the display. "If someone's shooting at you, get out of the way and don't. Ever... Oh, no, that's no way to talk. Ahem. Before you go into a situation, always check the sniper positions."  
Drake nodded, "Sensible and in character."

She handed him the new costume.  
"A little heavier than I was expecting."  
"So long as you can still dodge in it."

He considered it, "How does it fold?"  
"You'd rather fold it up than put it on?"  
"I'm going on a holiday, so as excited as I definitely am, if I can't carry it on me discreetly that'll put a real crimp in my day. Every day."  
"There's a steel frame in the cape, here." She folded it down.  
Drake watched in astonishment.

"You just turned my costume into an umbrella!"

"You're welcome." She held it out to him.

"Uh," Drake felt tense, fearful. "That's really weird, Doctor Bellum. People lose, and not to mention, pilfer... umbrellas all the ti-"  
She held out her other hand.  
Drake pulled his phone out from behind him. "And then you put a tracker signal into it?" What am I? A bat?  
"You already have four chips on your person." She put the app in.  
"You make a lot of good points." He back-peddled immediately.

"What's the washing instructions?"  
"You can only put it in the washing machine once..."  
"Huh?"  
"And then you'll need a new washing machine."  
"Ah." Drake started laughing. "You're worse than I am." He undid the catch and the cape released the costume. "Also, this is absolutely the coolest thing I have seen in this entire place. Thank you."

"Just remember when you're folding down, you're extracting air. Come on, I'll teach you some Braille."

He smiled, "Wait just a sec."

"Oh, you can get changed in there." She waved him off to a barely visible side door.

* * *

Drake went into the side room, briefly appreciating the insanity of his current situation as he changed.

* * *

He came out and dashed up the way to Bellum.

"So what formulas have you made?"  
She picked up a canister. "Nutty Putty. So sticky, they'll wish they'd worn their Teflon coat. Onion-aide, decaffination. Grapple hook, net cast and you can't carry them at all if you're going the full umbrella."

"I know, right? The logistics of that TV show get mind boggling at times."

"You'll find yourself regrouping a lot. Go back to a safe point, recalculate your odds, reassess your strategies. That's the best thing about smoke bombs. Hows my redesign of your outfit?"

He tried a spring jump and roll near her and then turned back, "Yep; no issues... I feel very dressed." He flourished the cape but the metal caught. "Oh." He stopped, his smile fading. "This does something different."  
"Yes, it's an umbrella."  
He raised an eyebrow. "And doubles as a...?"  
"An umbrella. It's a minor defence against shrapnel."  
"What about a parachute?"  
"Er, no. It's not strong enough for that."

He tried again. This was a little too difficult for him to fake. "Unfortunately... It..." He swallowed. "Needs to be fabric. Darn, I'm sorry!"  
"What for? Let's troubleshoot this problem. What are you trying to do?"

"Be scary. You know the whole 'flapping terror' schtick."

"Where's your old one?"  
He pulled out the bundle from his pocket and handed her dark purple layer.  
Bellum lifted it up between them. "When they don't make things very well." She sighed.  
"I was hardly up for knit-picking at the time."

She turned it on its side, cocking her head and sighed again. "...And then it's going to be we-ird..." She flipped it back to him like a tea-towel. "No, no, won't do. Here," She pulled out a slip of paper from her pocket, "You memorise the Braille patterns and I'll go play with the sewing machine. Also I'll need that." She pointed to his neck.

Drake undid the clasps and handed the starchy umbrella cape to her. "I do like it for what it is..." He said to her as she left. He saw her disappear to the right behind some large cylinders and let out a breath he'd been unconsciously holding. Then he realised that might be weird to the person watching the security camera.

"My goodness... I need to get out. Find a party to crash or go to or... knowing my track record: do both."

He looked down at the card and started memorising the dot patterns.

A huge almost industrial amount of noise shrilled into his ear slits. Drake put the code page on the grenade table and went to see what Doctor Bellum was doing.

* * *

She was standing over the controls, watching the screen of a giant box machine.

"That's the sewing machine?"  
"Ah, well, it's not exactly a secret around here."  
"How does it work?" He asked her, engaged in the concept.  
"Oh. It best starts with a plan. You have to be very precise."

"You mean like with the clasp issue?"  
"That's exactly..." She stared at him. "Now I feel rude for not asking."

Drake shook his head, "No that's fine." He chuckled, "we both get carried away. We might not have the exact same answer, but I'm sure yours is good enough..." He paused, "I mean, I'm 'sure' it's good enough!"

The machine stopped a moment later and Bellum opened the door, pulling out the fabric from inside.

"So, now this should work: Inside out and bingo." She clipped the fabric to the outside, leaving a collar flap to go over and hide the connectors. "How's that look?"

"Pretty good." He smirked, taking it from her and put the clasps onto his collar.

He picked up the fabric edge, raising the ends of the outer cape and swishing it forwards and back. "Ye-es!" He grinned at her. "Best ever."

"Thank you." She accepted with self-satisfaction.

"So it's just one last thing then." She walked him back up the way.

* * *

"The ultimate expression of thinking through a fight." She gestured to the gas gun on the table as she took the last steps toward it. "You have to be good enough."

Drake nodded. "I'm pretty good."  
Bellum handed him the gas gun. "Go for it."

Drake stared at the gas gun in his hand. The weight, the feel, and was it bugged, sabotaged or booby trapped? Sabotaged, most likely. The trigger mechanism was probably made using a fast wear plastic so any test grenades would go off fine, but later down the line and he was in real combat, the grenade would get stuck and discharge in his hand.

"Um... Darkwing?"  
"I am going to stop so many criminals with this thing; they 'will' be terrified."  
"Have fun!"

He looked up at her cheery smiling face. She handed him the grenades in a string belt. "We-ell. Guess you're off on your holiday. Do have a good time."

He stood there, staring at her baiting him again.  
"Sorry, you have a question?" It was almost imperceptible. Was this a hint? Might she really be trying to help him?  
Drake's beak twitched into a smirk. "Doctor Bellum." He held out his hand, "May I have the formulas, please?"

"Oh. Why of course you may." She smirked back and handed him a laminated slip.

He pocketed it, took a step back and tipped his hat to her.


	3. Agitate

**More Darkness**

* * *

**9**

**Agitate**

* * *

Doctor Bellum's lab disappeared behind the closing door. Onwards to the front receptionist, Drake handed in his pass card and walked out the door of the S.H.U.S.H. offices. He walked briskly home to his apartment, rubbing his arms. The inexplicable feeling made his feathers curl. "Shower. That's it. I just need a shower. That's all."

* * *

Drake put his old costume and fedora in the wash, along with the new fabric cape he'd watched Bellum make. The pattern on the monitor was bugless.

First, he went to the little bookshelf by his server bar and pulled out the phone box on the shelf above his electronics books. Sim cards swapped, he fetched a marker and wrote 'compromised security' inside the cover of the old phone before closing it back up. Into the box it went and that went into the cupboard. That covered what he could of the time while he was unconscious.

In the kitchen, Drake tossed the grenade sash into the bin. Then he tossed the formulas. Then, with a bitter lump in his throat, the gas gun. He pulled off the heavy jacket and skivvy and into the bin they went too.

While not necessarily everything she'd given him was corrupted, for sure anything could be. and there was no way that he was beating a high ranking S.H.U.S.H. agent at their own game. Bellum wasn't paid to do things in half measures.

He didn't want to think about it, but the creeping feeling directed him to the shower.

* * *

" 'So you don't want the gas gun?' That isn't nice, Doctor Bellum."

"Is that 'mainly scanning for' or 'mainly scanning', Doctor Bellum? Because that's the first scan I've ever heard that knocked a person out cold!"

* * *

Drake was still toweling himself off when the prickling discomfort came back. All at once, the suspenseful feeling of suspicion that had been hanging over him since waking up in the infirmary locked into very uncool fact.

She _'had'_ done something to him.

He sank down onto the sofa with tears in his eyes, clenching a pillow, remembering the entire scene with Doctor Bellum and the gadgets that he'd now thrown in the bin.  
"Holy heck that was everything I love. Couldn't it have been real for a change?"

"Gyah, it's like... ants. Fire ants!" He jumped up, rubbing his neck, started pacing back and forth, his breaths growing short. "Hooter even _'said'_ my name out loud! He shouldn't do it to _'any'_ of his employees but... _'me'?_ So when did he lose it? How did he lose it? Why did he lose it and oh. _Why-hasn't-he-filed-it_?!" He exclaimed. "We're a team, we work together, Protocol 1. It's-protocol-1..._How-can-he-not-know_..." He took a breath, "protocol-1?!" Drake rubbed his face. Breathe, Drake, breathe!

"This is serious... Putoktah. That's him. That's the guy. A mad dashing, car crashing, ravine jumping, rocket launching cowboy." He sighed. "Well, he sure is 'colourful', Mr. Drake. Frankly I wouldn't be at all surprised if it was the corridors that skipped his record. They do my head in and I'm sensible."

He stopped, seeing the bin, realising an opportunity. "You know what?"

Drake went to the bin and pulled the gas gun back out. Laid it on the floor. "Little do they know that they're dealing with a Junior Woodchuck merit badge champion." He collected his mini-screwdriver set from under the coffee table and started undoing the parts to the gas gun. "They're not bringing _'me'_ down."

He glanced up in the bin where he could see a bit of the teal bullet protector sticking out. "Try to lull me into a false sense of security in only the most dangerous of situations, will they?" He looked at one of the spokes of the umbrella/umbrella sticking out. "Did anybody ask _'my'_ opinion on lugging an umbrella around on a sunny day, and then never using it when it's _'actually'_ raining? Do they just _'assume'_ I have no self respect? That I just 'popped' into existence the moment I 'stepped' inside the door? I'm Drake Mallard! They've certainly said it back to me enough times."

He got his phone out and took a picture of the set of gas gun parts. No bug or booby trap, but there was definitely plastic involved. Darkwing Duck's gas gun would never have _'any'_ plastic on the inside because it wasn't a toy, he wasn't a cheap act and he got dangerous to _'solve'_ problems, not create them.

He rubbed his neck. Suddenly remembering that _'anything'_ in his apartment could be bugged right now. Taking a stand, he glanced around the apartment. It didn't _'feel'_ like anybody had been in here, but that was not the sort of person that S.H.U.S.H. would get to do it. He looked at his bookshelf again. His electronics books hadn't shifted a millimetre. His comics were in the same order. His forensic chemistry handbook was exactly how he'd placed it the other night. He turned. The tissue box was on the same angle. The marker, he'd just moved that.

Fruit bowl? No clue; it was a transient item. He pulled out the bananas and oranges and looked into the bowl. No bug. He picked the bowl up and turned it upside down.

He took a sharp breath. Bug!

Validation stared back at him as he tried to remember what on earth he'd been saying to himself just now. Well, gibberish was usually how anything not rehearsed came out of his beak, so good luck to the guys at the office. He turned it back over and washed it in the sink.

Drake opened the fridge to make a stir fry. He needed to not think about this for a minute.

It didn't work and his mind fell back on Hooter. " 'Darkwing Duck is not a duck.' And why would I be 'bored' when I'm studying crime fighting techniques? We wouldn't want Drake Mallard getting hurt, here, have a gas gun which is _'obviously'_ not booby trapped because it's the stuff you can't see that's the '_real'_ killer."

The washing machine finished and he went and fetched his outfit from the wash. "Not wearing wet clothing." He grumbled, tossing it into the dryer. "Here, take a week off. Take your '_whole life'_ off. Get out of here, Mallard, we don't like ya."

* * *

He felt his feathers prickling again as he sat down with his food in front of the blank TV.

"If this is going to kill me, I am going to be 'really' upset with you, Hooter." He gritted, feeling another wave of prickling. He took a breath, trying to steady himself. "So, now I have to commit breaking and entering on a blood testing clinic."

"Oh, that makes me sick. There has to be a worthier way. But going to the hospital won't get me instant answers and those are the only ones I can afford right now."

"I _'could'_ break into the police station instead... I mean I _'am'_ the victim of a crime." He felt his feather's prickling again. Breathe.

"Okay... try to be _'charitable',_ Drake. So. What if I wasn't Drake Mallard. What if I was... Rake Allard. So why? I scanned some musty old records. Noticed some missing and asked about them. I am innocent... Gyah! _How-dare-he-do-that-to-anyone_? Oh, wait a minute. Let's have this one: 'Darkwing Duck is not a duck, so I'm technically not killing anyone important by killing Rake Allard'. That's it, that's it, isn't it? All along, yeah. '_Rake Allard's_' actions aren't big enough to speak for themselves. But did they give me a chance? No-oo. Go file, oh, you filed. Now you know too much you must die. _That-is-not_ what S.H.U.S.H. _is-supposed-to-be_!" He breathed, trying to catch his breath. "S.H.U.S.H. was-."

The dryer clicked into the next stage.

"Right, need to get ready." He reached under the coffee table and pulled out his mini forensic set to get a blood sample.

* * *

"Okay." He moved about his apartment, thinking through the scene that was coming up. "Forensic gloves. Hakerexe on USB. Suction cups I can use the grapple hook to-. Oh, no."

Drake looked down at the disassembled gas gun on the floor in front of him. "I don't have a choice." He tensely reassembled the unit. "Well, grapple hooks don't backfire at least." He pulled the utility belt out of the bin and removed the grapple and the net. 'Oh, you got a gas gun, Darkwing? What do you put in it?' **'Not gas'**. 'Um...' **'I know; tell me about it'**."

Now he wanted to shove this stuff in his pockets. _Now._

The dryer was still going on the last part of the cycle. "Nope, sorry. If I'm done, you're done!" He flicked off the power point and yanked on his slightly damp, mostly dry outfit.

* * *

A short walk got him to the street. He used the grapple to get above the door. Drake found it surprisingly easy to break into the police station via the ceiling route; hopping from one security camera to the next.

He got to the lab, checking the time from when he'd started. "So about three minutes." He put the timer on his watch. He disconnected the cameras and jumped down in a hurry. "T-minus and counting." He raced to the machine and put his sample in.

He hacked the terminal. "Come on, come on!"

The loading time was making him freak.

"Breathe! I... need... to... breathe!"

His timer went off. The results started to appear.

The door opened.

**"Freeze! Put your hands in the air and turn around slowly."**

His agitated body jerked slightly at the 'slow' part of the instructions. Drake turned, finding himself, glaring at the guns pointing at him. Stop, Drake, they're police. He forced a slow breath,  
"They're trying to kill me...I..." Too much. Breathe "I need a doctor... I am 'not' a criminal. I..." Too much. Breathe. "need help."

They looked at each other.

"Take a seat." The first one watched him intently, then waggled his head to his colleague. "Go get Doctor Ryde. I'll watch him."

Drake sat down, closing his eyes, trying to stay his breathing. It kept hitching. Somehow seeing those guns had made it so much worse. It was constant now.

* * *

The doctor came into the room. Tall, thin, dark spiked hair and glasses. He checked the results on the screen, checked his heart rate blood pressure and pulse.

"It's just racing, everything's racing."  
"I could jump a train right now."  
"As far as 'now' is concerned; it's amazing you didn't get shot."  
"Doctor, is there anything you can do, '_please'_?

The doctor went to the dispensary and returned with a bottle and a glass of water. He handed him the glass and two tablets from the bottle.

Drake took it immediately.

He sighed, looking down at the empty glass. "What is going on inside me? It feels like fire ants got under my skin."  
The doctor shook his head. "Bio-engineered whatever it is."

"Bio-engineered fire ants. What a ludicrous way to die." Drake balled his hand into a fist in indignation.  
"This guy gunning for you is intelligent and resourceful. Who knows what he's going to do when he realises his plan has failed."  
Drake folded his arms. "Probably not diplomacy."

"Can you think of anything that might have brought him to do this?"

Drake shook his head, "He called me 'parochial'. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Parochial." The doctor pulled out his phone, typing into the search bar. "A short-sighted, small-minded, introverted conservative."

Drake's beak fell open. "_Yeah, well-if-he-did-the-stupid-small-thing-he-was-supposed-to-do, I-wouldn't-have-to-go-on-about-it!_" He took a breath. "I am conservative. I'm conserving history. History is the manual to the future. By learning from history we avoid repeating mistakes. I am introverted. That's a common personality type. There's nothing out of the ordinary about me."

"Oh, dear god."  
Drake blinked, "what?"  
"If you were a full extrovert, you'd be dead right now."  
Drake straightened. "You're saying there's a chance he was trying to do something 'other' than kill me?"

"Experimental research?"

Drake narrowed his eyes. "S.H.U.S.H. wouldn't be into that, unless... Let's not forget. This isn't really 'S.H.U.S.H.' we're talking about." Drake said flatly. "This is one guy who's getting his lasso confiscated in short order."

"You're forgetting." The doctor handed him the bottle. "One a day. Set your alarm. Don't skip. Before you can get him, you're going to need to talk to an expert on bio-engineering or nano technological substances. You're a robust individual; I'm confident your body will recover but only if given an antidote. Deal with your health risk first."

Drake took it and slid off the seat. "Thanks, Doctor Ryde."

"Next time, instead of disconnecting cameras, just come in."  
Drake smiled halfy at him. "Maybe."


	4. Call In

**More Darkness**

* * *

**10**

**Emergency Call In**

* * *

Scrooge McDuck was at breakfast, getting ready for another haywire day dashed with emergency meetings at the money bin.

Mrs Beakley walked tensely up to his side.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Beakley?"  
"Sir," She looked furtively about. "There is a matter I need to discuss with you urgently!" She said in a hushed tone.  
Scrooge sighed, "Mrs Beakley, there's been a terrorist attack on my movie studio."  
"Oh, hang the studio, Scrooge; he broke a boom gate and had a tussle with a couple guards."  
"Lassie, we don't even know what he stole!"  
"May I remind you, Mr McDuck, it's a 'movie studio' and I say that in the loosest of terms. We have been ordered to St Canard for a briefing."

Scrooge's eyes opened wide. "Wha! You couldn'a mention it sooner?"

Beakley sighed, composing herself, "How do we do this? We can't both of us go without bringing the children."  
"Och, we cannae forget Della. She only just got back."  
Beakley blushed furiously, "Do you think she can safely distract _'all'_ of them long enough for us to make a discreet departure?"

"Oh, I see you have a point." He paused, "Och, don't worry your head about it lass, I'll think o' something." He said cheerfully. "You get onto Della and I'll round up Launchpad."

"Very well."

* * *

After heading to his study to cancel and reschedule today's appointments, Scrooge took a wander down to the garage. All the while he didn't spot a bairn. Who knew if they'd spotted him. One step out of place and who knew?

She knew.

Launchpad had his head under the bonnet.

"Trouble, Launchpad?"

Launchpad straightened and banged his head. "Oh, no trouble, Mister McDee. Just checking for cats."  
"Launchpad, we don't have a cat."  
"Oh, well that's good news then because I didn't find him."

Scrooge sighed. "Alright, Launchpad. We're just waiting on Mrs Beakley."  
"Is she going to the bin today too?"  
"No. We're on official business in St Canard today."

McDuck sat in the passenger seat, listening to the silence in the car.

"I know you're there, young Webbigail."  
"Oh, uh, hi there, Mr. McDuck."  
"Yeh no' coming, lass."  
"Oh, but-." She whimpered, "... Road trip!"  
"Road trip?"  
"Road trip!"  
Suddenly Dewey and Louie burst into the car to join Webbie.

"Och," Scrooge blanched, "Don't you want to spend the day with yeh mum, lads?"  
"Oh, she wants to woodchuck with Huey today."  
"Yeah, and we get enough of that with Huey."

Scrooge sat back in his chair in momentary defeat. He needed a new plan before Beakley turned up.

* * *

Launchpad closed the bonnet as Mrs Beakley opened the door and sat down beside Louie.

"When we get there it's gonna be boring," Scrooge warned them. "For _'hours',_ I imagine. They're a load of persnickety paper pushers."  
Launchpad stuck his head in through his open door. "You know, I got a buddy living in St Canard. We could go see him while you push your paper, Mr McDee."  
"Excellent idea, Launchpad. Do give him a call."

Launchpad cheerfully moved off from the car to use his phone.

"I dunno..." Webbie wasn't sold, looking between Scrooge and her grandmother, "I think you're trying to trick us into missing out on a really cool spy thing."  
Beakley sighed. "Some spy things, Webbie, are definitely 'not' cool."  
"Perilous to the claustrophobic." McDuck agreed.  
"Mind-numbingly monotonous." Beakley agreed.  
"The best thing about the place is the free coffee, or I should say 'coffee'."

Launchpad got in the driver's seat and started manoeuvring the car out of the garage and down the drive. "He said yes, and he'll give us directions once we're at S.H.U.S.H.."  
"Och! You're not supposed to mention S.H.U.S.H., Launchpad!"  
"Sorry, Mr McDee."

Scrooge hesitated as they moved through the gate. "You still want to come, kids? McDuck hastened, "It's not too late yet."

"No, we're cool, Uncle Scrooge." Louie answered. "We wanna hang out with you."  
"Plus we can make our own fun." Dewey added.  
"We know 'you' can make your own fun." Louie teased.  
"Hey! I'll have you know I'm an artist."

"Well," Mrs Beakley remarked, "at least the trip will be entertaining."  
"Aye, it always is." McDuck smiled to himself.

* * *

"Hey, this isn't going to make us miss the party tonight, right?" Dewey suddenly asked as they were leaving the outskirts for town.  
"Och, nah, it's just the 'one' meeting this time."

* * *

"You any idea what they want to talk to you about?"

"Haven'a clue." Scrooge shrugged, "Agent 22?"  
"No, they would not say." Beakley pursed her beak. "It was only a communications officer relaying a message. The meta data was lost in translation. S.H.U.S.H. are experts at not sharing information when they don't want to."  
"Humph." Scrooge was dissatisfied.  
"Whether it's 'classified' or not."

"Well," Launchpad joined, "They want to tell you something now, so that's a good thing."

"There's a point, Launchpad, when you have to ask yourself 'is it worth the knowing'." Scrooge sighed, looking onto the road. "I'm no' gonna say S.H.U.S.H. isn'a good cause. Och, Mrs Beakley, d'you know what I'm going on about?"

Mrs Beakley mused. "Director Drake had so much enthusiasm it was infectious. Director Hooter employs a more diplomatic approach to his agents. Unfortunately, you and I are 'very' plainspoken people. We don't want 'an' answer, we want 'the' answer. We left and took our stubborn arrogance with us. There's really nothing more to it in my mind. We can't change who we are on such a fundamental level. You and I just didn't fit any more."

"Well said..." Scrooge agreed, "Tis the same anywhere, too. A different captain, a different crew. Above all you want your staff to be loyal to you."  
"Indeed." Beakley replied in a severe tone. "Perhaps we should talk about something more light-hearted for the children's sake, sir? My mind is starting to conjure some dis-quietening imagery."

Scrooge nodded, "The party tonight's a fundraising event for the McDuck-Glomgold's charity venture 'Dimes for Ducklings'. Rather than the usual crowd, we've decided to make it a concession entry event, that way we hope to get more people to attend."

Dewey enthused, "What's the entertainment going to be like?"  
"Well, we have lucky door prize, and a buffet..."  
"Live entertainment?"  
"The DJ booth. Max'll be doing it this time."  
"We literally do that 'all the time'." Louie pointed out. "Can we do something like, you know 'not the same'?"  
"Well since it's a joint venture with Glomgold, the details are rather set in stone now. There are always other parties, though, Louie. I'm open to suggestion on those." He grinned as a cacophony of excitement started up in the back.


	5. Parenting

**More Darkness**

* * *

**11**

**Parenting**

* * *

Drake woke to a blaring noise and jumped up, grabbing the gas gun, looking around wildly. "Where, where?!"

It was his phone.

He looked at the caller. "Launchpad?" He picked up the call.  
_"Hey, DW, how you going?"_  
"Like you would not believe." He answered grimly.  
_"Great! Um, so Mr McDee is visiting S.H.U.S.H. and, well I wouldn't call it babysitting, but..."_

Drake looked around him at the dark lounge room of his parents house. "Um, well that's great, Launchpad. When you get to S.H.U.S.H. just give me a call and I can give you directions from there."

Drake put down his phone and set to opening the curtains.

* * *

"Oh, my goodness! Drake!" His mother uttered at the doorway.  
Drake twitched, turning around. She was wearing a light blue blouse and white pants with her brown hair to her shoulders; according to her voice and facial expression he looked really bad.

"Er, hi, mum... Sorry for... crashing in on you, like this."  
"What's happened? It can't be good!"  
Drake clenched his teeth, "Yeah, I... didn't make a good impression on Director Hooter." He swallowed.

His mother stared, wide-eyed at him, "What did you do?"

"_It-wasn't-me_, mum!"

"**Drake**!" His mother cadenced dramatically back at him, "**You do not ever get to speak to me like that!**"

Drake shook his head desperately, "I-I'm sorry, mum, they-it's what-something that they've done to me..." He picked up the medication bottle. "The doctor doesn't really know... mum, these are _tranquilizers_. I should be out cold! I'm surprised if I got more than a few minutes sleep this morning; my brain won't shut off. And that's with the tranquilizer!" He shuddered, "It's only because I'm in really good shape that I'm not dead already."

"**None of this is an explanation!**" She answered in a thunderous bellow.

Drake silenced himself at his mother's raised voice. He didn't recall ever getting into trouble like this.

"What does your notebook say?" She held her hand out for it.  
Drake grabbed it from his pocket and handed it to her.  
"Why don't you make us some breakfast and I'll look at this."

* * *

Drake was just cooking the scrambled eggs, bacon and tomato when his father turned up at the kitchen door.

Miserably, Drake noticed his father looking between them. "Hi, dad."

"...Eleanor, what...?"

Drake caught his mother pointing at him. He looked back down to the frying pan.

"I've got to find a cure for it, but the only ones who know what it is are at S.H.U.S.H.. You don't get into S.H.U.S.H. without a pass card. You can't get a pass card, unless you check in at the receptionist. There are no windows in Doctor Bellum's lab. I will need to crack, break, destroy all of the internal defences of that place and they may not even have bothered developing a cure. I'm not sure if it's designed to eliminate unwanted employees... but it sure feels that way."

He put the toast in to cook, then stared bitterly out through the window at the back yard, the green grass and the topiary bushes. "Doctor Ryde pointed out, that because I managed to get help, it's essentially failed killing me and, if that was the plan, Hooter will try again. Hooter only uses two strategies in anything he does. So if he isn't using diplomacy, then he's in threat eradication mode. With me. On me and at me."

"You must've made a real impression on him to get onto the department chief's threat list." His dad marvelled.  
"Harold!" Eleanor scolded. "What's gotten into 'you', now?"  
"I had the same thing happen to me at Ducklehoff." Harold explained, "The important thing to remember, is that we're all trying to do the best we can."

"I tried telling that to Hooter!" Drake looked to his father, "I really did! And he just looked at me, and told me I was bored. Me. Who stood at the TV with the pause button, on every action scene of Darkwing Duck, learning every move. _Told-me-I-was-a-duck. That-I-was-corruptible._" Breathe, Drake, breathe.

"You can't oust one person for a problem that everyone has."  
"That's what 'I' said!" Drake portioned out the food and brought the plates to the table. "Are you getting anything out of my notes, mum?"  
"You wrote a _'lot'_ of notes last night."  
"Yeah..." Drake shrugged and picked up his fork. "The inside of my head looks like a washing machine on endless cycle."

"Let's get back to what the doctor said."  
"I need an immunity formula to help me beat this. That's the only way I'm going to get my life back."  
"I dread the idea of you breaking back into S.H.U.S.H. to do anything." His father disapproved. "I've had enough bad blood after the debacle at Ducklehoff to know."

"Dad, tell me about Agent Grizlykoff. He seemed like the only one in that place actually dedicated to S.H.U.S.H. principles. Everyone else seemed to be enthralled by Director Hooter's diplomatic skills."  
Harold smiled, "Old Koff. I wouldn't be half the duck I am now if I hadn't had him to argue with back then."

"Well." Drake frowned, "Guess you're better than Director Hooter then, dad. Grizlykoff was trying to save me. I know he really did try; in the end it was just too late."  
"I'm not going to lose my son!" Harold was serious, "We can't break into S.H.U.S.H., but science is a thing that a bunch of people do or it wouldn't have been on your TV show. When your friend gets here, we can ask him."

Drake shook his head, "Launchpad's a philosophical philanthropist and a stunt pilot. He can take a plane apart and put it back together again, but in saying that... I-I'm going to explain this whole thing with the words 'alien flu' so... no-ow you know Launchpad."

"He could have friends though. We'll ask." His mother nodded.  
"And you need to make yourself look respectable again." His dad noted, "How long before your friend arrives?"

"A couple hours; he's coming up from Duckburg."


	6. Minotaur

**More Darkness**

* * *

**12**

**Minotaur**

* * *

Launchpad stopped the car in a standing bay near a busy pedestrian-filled city square. "So that fountain is the S.H.U.S.H. building?"

"Erm, almost, Launchpad." Scrooge answered, getting out. He put his head in the window with his cane on the ledge. "You know where you're going?"  
"Huh?"  
"Your friend."  
"Oh!" Launchpad laughed and pulled out his phone.

McDuck looked into the back. "Have fun, kids, and do be good. Alright?"

"We're at this huge fountain thing." Launchpad said.

"Sure thing, Mr. McDuck!" Webbie answered for everyone. "Unless we could _'maybe'_ come along with you anyway?"

"Uh, stork on the left." Launchpad said.

"What, and be bored out of your skulls?" McDuck sighed, "I wouldn'a wish it on anyone lass."

"Yes." Launchpad said.

McDuck pulled away from the car and went to Mrs Beakley's side.

"How do I do that? Hey, Dewey, can you set this 'Bluetooth' thing up?" Launchpad asked.  
"Sure." Dewey slipped into the front seat.

* * *

McDuck watched tensely for another minute until finally Launchpad got a clear way and started moving the car again. All three kids were still inside.  
"Well done, sir."  
He was frozen for a long moment staring off after them, his feet and facial expression locked in 'good-bye' position, "Gotta be the hardest thing in my life."  
"It 'is' boring in there, sir. There's certainly no doubt about that."

"It's not enough though, Bentina." They started walking up the street. "Most things when they're boring, you can just _'show'_ the kids that they're boring, and then off the bairns go and leave you in peace. Your granddaughter's not gonna believe anything she can't lay her eyes on, bless her heart. The unko-own is the greatest treasure vault of them all!"

* * *

They stopped ten metres off, staring at the sandstone building. McDuck took in an uneasy breath, rallying himself. "Well, here we go... _into the pit_."  
"Indeed." Mrs Beakley agreed grimly.

* * *

They walked in to the bland reception area.

The brown short-haired receptionist eyed them. "Names?" He asked simply.  
Scrooge straightened. "Scrooge McDuck and Bentina Beakley."  
The receptionist typed into the computer. "I have to ask you for a DNA check."  
"That..." Beakley flinched, "Seems a little exorbitant."  
"You travelled two hours to get here?"

Scrooge rolled his eyes and pulled out a feather from his head, "Here you go, ye-, come on, Bentina."  
With a stiff motion she pulled a hair from her head and put it in the other sample jar. "I'd like to know what precedent caused S.H.U.S.H. to go to 'this' level of security."  
"Darkwing Duck protocol, agent."  
Mrs Beakley blushed. "Erm... Just the 'one' protocol, agent?"  
"We have at least one agent with at least one doppelganger."  
Scrooge nodded and took his pass card from the receptionist. "Come along, Agent 22."  
Mrs Beakley took her pass card and followed him.

* * *

Down the far end of the corridor, Scrooge swiped his pass card at the door panel. It didn't open. "You'd think in a place this small there'd only be one westerly corridor."  
Beakley swiped her card at the door panel on the other wall and it opened. "Ah! It's this way, we were almost correct."

* * *

"At least we haven't seen the staircase for a while." Mrs Beakley rubbed her brow. "We've been going south. Perhaps we should try north?"

Scrooge looked at his compass between his fingers. "The matter with that is we don't know how south we really are."  
"Ah, I see, so what you're saying is that if we keep going south whenever we can't go west we should eventually hit the exterior wall."  
"And we can work out way back from there."  
"I was going to say 'jump out the window'. I'm fed up with this place. How's your headache?"  
"Aye, getting on a bit. How's yours?"  
"I'll manage." She grumbled. "Remember the mission to Penumbra?"

Scrooge swiped his pass card and they went through the southerly door into another identical corridor. "Aye, that was satisfying."  
Beakley swiped her card at the west door. It didn't open. Scrooge swiped his at the south door and they continued on.  
"The ice caverns." She reminisced.  
"The attack dogs." He recalled.  
"The laser turrets..."

* * *

They walked, still lost in the maze of doors and corridors.

"Aye, couldn't help noticing you were blushing back there, lass." Scrooge teased as "What is this about you and Darkwing Duck?"

"Uh, Darkwing Duck is a TV Show. It's nothing apart from fantasy."  
"Och, he's a crime fighter, I know that much. Bit of a difference." Scrooge shrugged, swiping his card at the next westerly door plate. It didn't open. "Give an old duck a bit of credit."

Beakley swiped her card for the southerly door.

It didn't open.

"Och, for crying out loud, I doonae wanna try this again!"  
"That's it: we've reached a dead end. The janitor will come by for our bones promptly at six tomorrow morning."

Scrooge looked up at the ceiling camera, "_Oi-ee! Hooter, you old spelunkin' road runner! You want us to come and talk to ye? Then you gonna have to come out and find us!_"

Beakley paused, "Not the most elegant of solutions..."  
They heard a door at the other end of the short passage open.  
"But effective." She smiled.

* * *

A few identical short corridors later, the door opened to a small reception room. They breathed a sigh of relief.

"At last: people." Scrooge sighed in relief as the middle aged woman let them in. "We' been lost an entire hour in this nonsense place. I've forgotten your name, Agent...?"  
"Smith, sir. The meeting room is behind my desk. The director will be with you in a minute. You are late, so you must forgive him."

Taking his indignation with him, Scrooge followed Mrs Beakley into the room. A projector screen, large rectangular table and chairs. Plain decor. He went to the windows to peer down on the side street. "We wouldn'a even been late if not for the daft maze in here! There's not even a Minotaur to throw down with in the middle."  
"Now, '_that'_ would give it a touch of interest!" Beakley considered.

* * *

The door opened and Director Hooter entered the room.

"I'm sorry we've had to drag you all this way."  
Scrooge left the window side, "Director Hooter. It has to be serious if you can't just tell Agent 22 over the phone."  
"Even more specifically, it would be overheard. The barest mention could jeopardize your safety."  
"Do you think there's a phone tap on our line, sir?" Beakley asked.  
Hooter shook his head.

"We've had recent unconfirmed reports that the SplasherQuack may be currently residing in Duckburg."

Scrooge hesitated, the topic was drawing a blank in his mind. "I'm not familiar, sorry."  
"A bit after our time, sir." Beakley elaborated.

"Thirty years ago, SplasherQuack was our top agent. She was responsible for dispatching supernatural threats. Unfortunately, on her last case, the supernatural threat got to her instead."  
"You're telling me there's a possessed S.H.U.S.H. agent hiding somewhere in 'my' Duckburg?"  
"Correct."  
Beakley clenched her fists. "How dangerous exactly is this SplasherQuack or whatever she's become?"  
"Very. In a normal duck the Ripperjack is murderous. SplasherQuack... isn't... a normal duck. She's a vampire. That... also happened on a S.H.U.S.H. case." He added with a heavy sound of regret.

"Och, the poor lass." Scrooge felt sorry.

Hooter cleared his throat. "There are a couple fundamental points I need to get across: Do not, under any circumstance, approach SplasherQuack. She can smell a S.H.U.S.H. agent from an ordinary duck and we do not know how hungry she is."

"So what's the delivery system for the solution you've devised then?" Scrooge asked.  
"That isn't your concern. I'm merely telling you this as a courtesy for you and your own safety."  
"We're S.H.U.S.H. agents!" Scrooge exclaimed, "You can't just tell us half a case; we have the right to know!"  
"My goodness; you're as '_ridiculous'_ as he is!"  
"_How-do-we-take-down-SplasherQuack_!?" Scrooge thundered.

"If you approach SplasherQuack you'll die!" Hooter responded frostily. "I've informed you, you may now leave."

Mrs Beakley let out a strangled growl. "I did not waste three hours of my life just so you could throw it back in my face with five seconds of information!"  
"_You're dismissed, agents_!"  
Scrooge narrowed an eye. "Alright, ye cantankerous ol' coot." He sat down in the chair. "We're not going anywhere till you tell us what's going on!"  
Mrs Beakley sat down heavily beside him folding her arms. "Thank you, Mr McDuck."

Hooter straightened, looking in horror at them. "_You do know I can have you extracted?_!"

"Aye, for sure that's gonna look good on your meeting record. 'Seasoned veteran S.H.U.S.H. agents getting the boot'?" Scrooge larked with savage meaning.

* * *

The seconds dragged by. Several moments passed as Hooter's barely contained outrage at the insubordination fizzled to bitter acceptance.

He took a seat opposite them with a deeply frustrated sigh.

"We had a way." He gestured with his hand. "It took thirty years of research into alien medical science; but we found a way to rescue SplasherQuack. We had just finished preparing our delivery system for dispatch yesterday, when..."

Hooter gritted in frustration, "Within an _'hour'_ Assistant Director Grizlykoff had usurped control of the project; citing the most mundane of protocols that only _'he'_ could have come up with. '_He'_ chose against retrieving a seasoned S.H.U.S.H. operative who has literally saved thousands of peoples lives."

"In favour of what?" Scrooge exclaimed in horror.

"Following protocols!" Hooter gritted his teeth. "We hired an individual to carry the anti-jack. It was for no other reason that we employed him. He has mental deficiencies that make him the perfect carrier. The plan was that he'd deliver the anti-jack to SplasherQuack and it would destroy the Ripperjack. It was the perfect solution."

Hooter clenched his fists in anger, "Grizlykoff took over the case and filed the closure forms without so much as a word to me first! He hasn't given Drake a single entrance examination and yet he's calling him a '_model agent_'. The boy can't answer a single question without getting into a muddle with himself. It takes him forever to scan a few pages into the computer; _he-is-never-going-to-cope-against F.O.W.L._!"

Hooter sank his head into his hands. "The Assistant Director's doomed SplasherQuack to an eternal unending battle with the Ripperjack demon... As S.H.U.S.H. agents we're prepared to die; but we didn't sign up to suffer decades and who knows how many untold centuries of torture..."

Scrooge stared at Hooter's down-turned head in shock. Several long moments went by and Hooter didn't move or say anything more. "I'm sorry."

Hooter took a collecting breath and shrugged, looking up at them in a sad expression. "Just stay away from SplasherQuack, agents. Keep to your routines, avoid abandoned buildings and especially dark ones. Don't throw yourselves onto the pike. Eventually she'll move on and I'll inform you by phone as soon as we have learnt anything. That is all."


	7. Mallard Manor

**More Darkness**

* * *

**13**

**Mallard Manor**

* * *

They watched the car pull in, Drake put away his phone, overwhelmed with joy. "Launchpad! It's great to see you!" He looked at the kids coming out of the car.

"Hi Dewey, how're you going?" He looked to the other boy and girl. "Ah, the kid who's desperately trying to be cool and...?"  
"I'm Webbie! He's Louie." She chuckled, shaking his hand. "Hi! Nice place."

"These are my parents, Mr and Mrs Mallard."  
"You still live with your parents?" Louie asked.  
"No, I d-!" Drake breathed. "I'm sorry, how about we get inside for something to eat after your trip?"

Drake corralled the kids towards the lounge room, "Okay, so, we've got Spiderduck and-."  
"Oo! Cool knight armour!" Webbie exclaimed, breaking away from his attempt for control.  
"Uh, yeah. So then we have Batduck-."

"What're the feathers for?" Dewey was standing in front of the movie poster stand, the Darkwing First Darkness up on the wall.  
"Oh, that's mum's." Drake pointed. "These are dad's army and firefighting stuff. Those are from mum's favourite acts."  
"Cool! So this is your part of the wall." Dewey said with a smile. "Sorry the movie didn't get out."  
"It doesn't make it mean anything less. Plus I got the poster. Pretty cool souvenir."

"I wouldn't want to be your kid." Louie said.

"What?" Drake opened his eyes wide, looking around to Louie. "I actually think I'd make a pretty good parent."  
"Everything is about achievement in this place." Louie expanded. "Do well. 'No pressure'." He air quoted.  
"It doesn't take a genius to do great things! It's about persistence, dedication and hard work. Focus on what you want and go for it. Don't let anyone... or anything, hold you back. Always get back up. Any-kid-of-mine-is going-to-get-that."

"Your whole life is about how good you look on a wall."  
"No-oo; Poster and photographs go on walls. It's the stories they tell that bring them to life." He pointed at the poster. "I'm going to be better than this. I'm going to make a difference!"

"What about this one?" Webbie pointed over to the horizontal glass case.  
"Those papers look really old."  
"Any treasure maps inside?"

"Those! Are the original notes that eventually became the first S.H.U.S.H. protocol manual dated March 1881 right there. These are all the subsequent updates. I took them out of the library because I had the need to start enshrining stuff after the movie failed." He pointed to the black and white picture on the wall above, "They were the very first S.H.U.S.H. team. There's a few of my grandparents in this picture. The ones in the middle lived right here in this house. Putting S.H.U.S.H. together was a multi-year project." Drake smiled.

"Protocols?"  
"Protocols. Like how to do your laundry?"  
Drake hesitated. "I'm going to pretend to ignore that."

"Why are there so many updates? Couldn't they just make it right the first time?"  
"No. It's discoveries that precipitate updates. Well... have you ever had to deal with an Egyptian mummy coming back to life?"  
"Yes."

"Cool." Drake looked at them, "Um... well, that's our 1911 update right there." He pointed to the second volume in the block. "You want to know what the most important protocol in the book is?"  
"I'm going to hazard a guess and say: 'number 1'. Am I right?"

"You think you're being funny, Louie; but you're actually miles in front of the next guy."

Drake glanced down at his grandfather's notes with protocol 1 on the top. "When you're out fighting mummies, what's the most important asset you have?"  
"We have each other." Dewey answered seriously.  
"Yes!" Drake enthused. "And by 'have', we also mean 'help'. We tell each other important things, so we can all get it done together. Unfortunately, some S.H.U.S.H. agents think of protocol 1 as unworthy of their time and anybody telling them to straighten up and follow it is a nuisance, or a clown, or someone...!" Drake swallowed. "Something else not nice."

"Why'd they do that, if it's only the most important thing in the book?"

"Because for the average agent, the 'doing' part of protocol 1 is filing their casework. It's behind the scenes that protocol 1 really takes off. Back in the day there were a whole team of clerks. Now the computer does the indexing automatically. Like, for example if you say 'I have a flashlight in my backpack' in case A, and your brother says 'I need a flashlight' in case B, Protocol 1 will flag that and ask 'hey, why didn't you give him your flashlight? You're working together'. Teamwork and integrity. That. Is protocol 1."  
"You'd get along with Huey. Like seriously he picked the wrong day to stay home."

"Hey, DW, cool house."

Drake walked over to the new display. "I know, right Launchpad? I spent ages looking for that! To think that it was here all along, up in the attic with the rest of our architecture stuff acting as a paperweight for our big paper sheets." He smiled halfly at the model, "I suppose you could say I 'own' S.H.U.S.H.." He chuckled.

"So what's it like inside? Really, like, not lying?" Dewey asked.

"They have the most fantastically awesome obstacle course that I have ever seen in my entire life." Drake declared. "Every roof profile and window ledge style in the inner city was somewhere in that room. The scaling walls went twenty feet up. There were road works, a bicycle stand. A phone booth, a hot dog cart. Model bystanders. Anything that could normally get in your way was there to get in your way." He smiled.

"Cool! What else?"

Drake frowned, thinking. The rule was to find one thing! "The infirmary is pretty nice in the morning. There's lots of windows with net curtains. The sunlight floods the whole room making you feel like you're almost outside. Oh. The sewing machine they have is pretty cool."

"Sowing machine?" The kids stared at him.

"The assistant director is nice. And the janitor..." Drake felt an extraneous pressure. "Uh... The... computer! Records. Thousands of cases! A hundred and forty years of crime solving history. Research, analysis, deduction, conclusion, solution! Courage, and teamwork, integrity and honour...!" He saw their faces.

"I remember being your age. I used to play at the fire station after school sometimes. I made this game up, to time myself and see how fast I could run up the stairs to slide down the pole... I mean, when it was just dad and me, of course. One afternoon, I got to thirty times!" He chuckled.

Drake sighed. "S.H.U.S.H. is supposed to be about its agents." He gestured to the photograph. "It just doesn't feel like it when you're in there." He pointed to the model. "I'd like to restore it back to its original intention-and-layout, but I wouldn't have a clue on where to start. The crooked corridor cipher: Is the threat still out there? Hey, kids, want to see my biggest toy?"

He smiled at them and led them into the garage.

"A motorcycle!"  
"Looks amazing, doesn't it?" Drake smiled, "You could almost hear the engine roaring. Can you imagine actually riding it? You'd be the best dressed vehicle on the road."  
"Wait, it doesn't work?"  
"You bought it so you could fix it?" Dewey prompted.  
Drake chuckled, "It needs more than a merit badge in electronics, Dewey. The circuits are completely fried. I love my bike. Reminds me of all the fight scenes with Megavolt."  
Louie was flat, "Uncle Scrooge would call this 'dead money'."  
"I know there's no financial sense in owning a bike that doesn't work, Louie." Drake frowned, "Believe me, I wasn't planning on buying it at all. But the circuits got fried in an electrical accident. That means thirty odd thousand dollars or a university degree's worth of understanding in electronics. Those people couldn't afford either of those things. This bike was the biggest investment of their lives. The..." Drake stopped. "Basically, me buying the bike helped them out a lot. I didn't need the money; they did. I agree that, no matter how cool, it's a real expensive thing just for looking at, but it's worth the challenge of me learning how to fix it. One day I'll get to ride it but right now all I can think about is my new job."

"Oo! Can we go see your attic?"  
Drake chuckled. "Uh, how about some snacks first?"

Drake stepped through into the hall and smiled at Launchpad as they went into the kitchen.

His parents had already made the tea.

"You don't look so good, DW." Launchpad frowned.  
"Ha." Harold said, "You should've seen him when he woke up this morning, Launchpad."  
"It's mostly because I haven't slept." Drake explained. "I've-."

"Hey!" Webbie came in through the door, holding Drake's medicine bottle. "Not to be rude, or you know, ungrateful to our very gracious hosts, but why have you got a huge tub of tranquilizers in your house?"

"It's Doctor Ryde's prescription for the alien flu I have." Drake answered her. "It's nothing contagious and so long as I take the tranquilizers, not life-threatening."  
"So it's not for the big cat in the piano room?"  
"Goodness, no! Toby is very well behaved." Eleanor answered.  
"A lot more than Drake is at the moment."  
Drake eyed his father. "Gee, thanks, dad."

Webbie put the bottle on the table and Dewey jumped up on a chair followed by Louie.  
"What's this about 'alien' flu? Did you meet actual aliens?"  
"No, but the first time S.H.U.S.H. dealt with aliens was in 1938."

"Duckburg. Heard it's a nice place." Harold interrupted.  
"I've been there a few times for work." Eleanor offered, "It's quite pretty. Lots of exciting and interesting people like to retire there."

"What do you do for work?" Dewey asked. "Like, what's the deal with the feathers?"  
"Oh, I'm an entertainer. I do live performances with Toby and Baby."  
"Oh, that's the snake, if you see him. He's tame, just leave him alone and he'll leave you alone, right, Drake?" Harold mentioned.  
Drake gritted his teeth. "Right, dad." He glanced around at the questioning faces. "There's a reason we call him 'Baby' and I'll give you a hint: It's not his size."

"You guys must have a lot of money." Louie remarked, "I mean, not a 'huge' amount of money, but. It's a pretty fancy house."  
"This house-." Harold began.  
"No! Dad," Drake blanched, "I'm sure they don't want to hear 'all' our family history. Louie lives in the shadow of Scrooge McDuck: he wants to learn about 'financial independence'."  
"I'm not living in-."  
"You totally are." Dewey disagreed.

"I want to hear about the Mallard family history!" Webbie exclaimed.

Drake looked at his dad looking back at him. "Apparently I didn't bore her enough yet."

Harold chuckled. "Drake's made it look like a bit of a museum in the hallway. But in a way, the whole house is. The Mallard family has a very long tradition as protectors in St Canard, dating all the way back to the middle ages. This block of land was gifted by the king for rescuing his daughter from a dragon's keep. Some of the house foundations are around 400 years old. We're not very rich people, but we have a rich history."

Eleanor answered, "Drake's a better example for financial independence. He bought his apartment from his savings working as an actor." She smiled sweetly at the kids. "Though he only did it so he could look 'cool'."  
"Mum, I do kind of actually live there. I mean not now because everyone's trying to get me. I have phone logs with you to support that." He flinched, "Sorry, I'm not well today." He stood up and hurried out of the kitchen.  
"So what've you been learning from your uncle? He owns lots of different businesses, doesn't he? What are some of your favourites?"

* * *

Drake shut the back door and ran to the back of the property. "N-argh!" He felt his feathers curling, "How-dare-he-do-this-to-me! I'm Drake Mallard! Worthless? And he, what, just thinks he can come here, take over S.H.U.S.H. with his silver tongue, an organisation MY ancestors helped into existence, and then pulls MY card?!" He struggled to breathe, "I-I said I wanted to fight a real criminal, I told him that! I didn't realise it'd turn out to be someone I trusted... I..." He felt tears sting his eyes.

Like Jim Starling.

"How do I deal with these people?" He sighed. Drake turned, looking at the runabout, turnabout old house: multiple levels and slightly off-centre. "This week I'm Drake Mallard. Darkwing Duck's taking a holiday. So what do you think of that, Drake?" He listened to the feelings inside him.

"I'm taking him down." He started back to the house.  
"You know what that'll do to S.H.U.S.H.."  
"Well, good. Then our protocols get enforced and we regain our integrity."

Drake stopped with a frown in the hallway, turning to stare at the collection of manuals.

* * *

"Gee, do you think you might be staring at 'em a bit hard, DW?" Launchpad stepped up beside him. "You're almost looking inside the covers."  
Drake blinked. "I'm trying to guess how many protocols he's broken that I don't know about yet. How many lives he's put in danger by doing it."  
"Do you think he meant to do it?"  
"I don't know. Logically, no. But he's blaming me for something that happened thirty years ago."

"What was the case?"

Drake shrugged, "SplasherQuack was a S.H.U.S.H. agent dedicated to eliminating supernatural threats. She worked on a lot of cases. You could almost take her as inspiring, but the dark side of dedication is obsession and she was definitely on that end of the spectrum. Nothing stopped SplasherQuack. The more cases she worked on, the more traces of the psychosis showed through. A vampire got her and she didn't even take her mandatory break. She didn't need it because she didn't see herself as a person.

"In her last case, SplasherQuack was on the trail of a non-corporeal extraterrestrial, like a ghost demon. It liked to possess people and tended to make them homicidal. SplasherQuack got ahead of it long enough to find out how it worked before it escaped.

"Nothing escapes SplasherQuack. This thing was hopping around faster than a vampire could lock on. So she decided to employ psychology. For that she needed a plan. She took a reading from the pathology reports about what might happen if the demon jumped into her and she knew she was on a winner. Her vampire system would lock the demon up so it couldn't keep hopping between hosts. Then, all her colleagues needed to do was stop her. It was the greatest plan of her entire career; up till now she'd usually just beaten and plowed and chainsawed her way through all her targets. She would stop the monster, get an honourable death in the bargain, eternal rest, no more blood habit, or getting stuck waiting for the sun to go down; it was great. So she thought. She collected all the stuff they could possibly need, put it in the middle of the research room and that was her last entry in the case file.

"The next entry in the file is Director Hooter's." Drake swallowed. "He'd decided against following through on her plan, insisting there had to be a better way. The next couple of weeks they spent looking for an alternative solution. They went to try it, cornering her in an abandoned church. Two of them didn't make it out alive. With that result, Director Hooter closed the case and stuck it in his cupboard. That was the last of SplasherQuack. Nobody saw, or heard from her again."

"Apart from dedication, I'm basically nothing like SplasherQuack. If she wasn't exclusively fighting monsters, I'd be all in for stopping her."

"Drake?"

He turned, "Mum?" He smiled.

"Would you like to go to a party tonight? It's in Duckburg."  
"Oh, mum, you know I..." He stopped. "Wait, Duckburg, I don't know anyone in Duckburg apart from McDuck and-." He glanced at Launchpad. "There'd be nobody to..." He felt a trace of excitement. "Yes! I would 'love' to go to a party!"


	8. Tarnish

**More Darkness**

* * *

**14**

**Tarnish**

* * *

Scrooge McDuck followed Mrs Beakley out of the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Hooter alone inside.

"Excuse me," Beakley requested from Agent Smith at the desk, "Agent Smith. We would like to see the Assistant Director about an urgent matter. You may tell him it will only be brief... subject to us being able to find him."  
"He's giving a training session at the moment." Agent Smith considered. "Perhaps if you flag a topic?"  
"Now, what are ye going on about?" Scrooge asked.  
"A tag, a catchphrase. Something so he'll understand why it's urgent."  
"I'll tell ye a good one: 'Drake Mallard'. Scrooge gritted fiercely.

Agent Smith rung through the computer.

"You know him, sir?"  
"Aye, he saved a whole of room full of people; you never forget a person like that. Pfft. 'Mentally deficient'." He snorted quietly, glaring back at the meeting room door.

"Sir, there are some out-of-town agents here that wish to speak to you about 'Drake Mallard' as a ma..." Agent Smith's eyes opened wide. "Yes sir." She stood up, taking off her headset. "Uh, please... come with me." She gestured. "And I'll... le-ave my desk unattended..."

She locked off her computer screen and headed towards a door.

* * *

In comparatively short order, Scrooge McDuck and Mrs Beakley found themselves in a different building, up the stairs to an outcropping observation room one level off the ground.

The great bear agent soon came up after them. "If you would, Agent Smith, please supervise students till I get back."  
"Yes, sir."

Scrooge reviewed the combat training session underway below. "Been in the army long, Agent Grizlykoff?"  
"Ya, is several year. Many good principle learn there." Grizlykoff closed the door. "You have no idea how happy I am for talk." He reached up and pulled out the cords for the security camera watching the room.

"So. You have spoken to Director Hooter. First you tell me what it is you think you know, then I will tell you hole in plot."  
"Oh, thank goodness." Beakley uttered, "Finally some sense."

* * *

After hearing back the meeting, Grizlykoff put his hand to his face. "Thirty years... He must be hiding case file in drawer."

"You shut down the case without knowing anything about it, sir?"  
"By breaching protocol 1, he give me no choice but to act blind!"  
"But why interfere at all? What if it was life threatening?"  
"It is the Assistant Director who is in charge of personnel, not the Director. I did not order or sign Drake Mallard for medical exam. This mean there was something seriously wrong. Nothing, no reason, no case, no matter,_ 'nothing'!_ Excuses breach protocol 5."

"So that clears that; what's this about you not giving the lad any proper entrance exams?"  
"What? Is management decision, is inconsequential to problem at hand. Red herring." Grizlykoff shook his head. "You are letting him mislead you."  
"I agree..." Scrooge sighed, "But we have to look at _'all'_ his arguments before we can fairly say who's off whose rocker."

"You assume control of this case?"  
"Absolutely!" Scrooge McDuck answered emphatically.  
Grizlykoff relaxed, his face growing neutral. "As per recruitment procedure we watch Drake Mallard since come in door. Put standard number of bugs in apartment. We have read transcript of multiple disciplinary meeting at school; from small child he quote S.H.U.S.H. principles; is why he fights. He has issue with hero worship so he wear costume, is fix that. His talk to self is not unusual for brain like spinning wheel. I entrust him four weeks of archive filing; he did in two and was as though I had done myself."

The assistant director sighed. "He did obstacle course faster than most cadets on fifth go. Incident at McDuck Studios show leadership, teamwork, courage, strategic planning and combat skill. If he is ticking all boxes he does not need entrance exam and also I do not have time to give entrance exam because I am too busy fixing protocol breaches!" He exhaled in annoyance.

"Since we need to clear all the points," Beakley brought up, "then we must discuss this 'mentally deficient' comment. Neither of you believe it. Where did it come from?"  
"Hooter thinks _'on_ly_ what'_ he _'wants'_ to _'think'!"_ He furrowed his brow. "You must understand, this is become _'every'_ conversation for me. It is part of our jobs to discuss personnel matters with each other. Now I am ignored and dismissed and mocked at every turn! Ack. Do not believe me: I am too upset! I will authorize you link to file on phones later. Should clear matter up without silly emotions."

"Okay. so where does that leave us?" Beakley asked.

"Let us jump to disaster this cause." Grizlykoff put his hand to his face again. "First thing in morning I get transcript from last night. I question Hooter..." Grizlykoff took a breath. "He say he did not hire Drake Mallard to be agent therefore is no breach of protocol 15."

"Prot-!" Beakley looked to Scrooge in wide eyes. "But that's not... the correct argument against a protocol 15 breach... if he's not an agent he's a citizen, Hooter's in breach of protocol 14 and his actions warrant statutory penalty!" Beakley exclaimed.  
Grizlykoff just looked at her with his face flushed.  
"Are you positive he's never asked Drake to be the carrier?" Beakley rushed.  
"I would not bring up if I did not have corroborative evidence, agent." Grizlykoff reprimanded grimly.

Grizlykoff clenched his fist. "He is now very upset young man. He did not go back to apartment last night after seeking medical help. This is how bad it is; that a S.H.U.S.H. matter get referred to police! Their report is that his is okay. He is not well, but he is alive."

"Oh, my-!" Scrooge held out his hand, "Is the formula for the antijack on his file?"

Grizlykoff shook his head. "Hooter is breach of protocol 1." Grizlykoff shook his head. "I am not authority for Doctor Bellum and I must give you order not to try."  
"The lad could die."  
"No; it is _'you'_ who could die. Protocol 5: One does not toss agents like coins after bad penny; this is how situation happen in first place. Drake Mallard is alive now, he will stay alive and you will find him. Find him, give him briefing Director Hooter did not give him about SplasherQuack solution. If you have any alternatives feel free to offer them to him, but do not put yourselves at risk! We have lost two agents to SplasherQuack and only Hooter knows how many more." Grizlykoff sat heavily on the observation chair.

"Aye, that's fine..." Scrooge considered what else was needed out of this.  
"What will you do about the situation with Director Hooter, sir?" Beakley asked.  
"Problem requires diplomacy and infiltration for solution. I hold position till Darkwing Duck returns. I now know Hooter's motives; I know what to guard against."

"That..." Scrooge hesitated, both his hands on his cane. "Depends on our success. You need an alternative, man."  
Grizlykoff stared at Scrooge. "I have worked with Hooter fifteen years. At heart he is good man. But if I have to do job self, I will be as bull in gate and it will devastation on everyone who works in S.H.U.S.H.! '_No'_!" Grizlykoff let out a heavy emotional breath. "Alive, unalive or undead I do not care what you must do; he '_must' _be enabled to come '_back'_!"

Grizlykoff stood up, collecting himself. "Do not worry so, agents. He is Mallard; a house fall on top of him, he walk away with not even bent beak. Should be like walk in cake park for you."

He went and reconnected the camera. "Thank you, agents. This is sensible discussion I have been missing. I trust you do right thing."

Scrooge bowed his head. "Aye, you're a good man, Grizlykoff."  
"Do you mind terribly, Assistant Director, in getting Agent Smith to help us back to the front door?"

Grizlykoff smiled. "Ya. I know is difficult. I am often rescuing recruit from hallway."

* * *

They managed their way out of the maze with Agent Smith's guidance and hurriedly handed their pass cards in to the reception.

They emerged, blinking into the midday sun.

"Oh, that took forever!" Beakley breathed as Scrooge typed into his phone. "Thank god." She looked to him.  
His concentration grew intense, studying his phone.  
"Are the children alright?"  
He looked up at her, "Sorry, that was the file links coming through."

"Oh." She reached into her pocket to retrieve her own phone as Scrooge called Launchpad. Here were the links to the two files: a case closed in 1991 and an employee record started last month. It was very telling not to see the connecting case file breaching the thirty year gap between. "Very grave indeed." She noted darkly.

"Och, thanking them kindly, Launchpad! Well, after lunch you come hunt us down."  
"We'll be at the fountain." She specified.  
"Aye, we'll be at the fountain where you dropped us off. Enjoy your lunch." Scrooge ended the call. "Come on, Mrs Beakley, we deserve some lunch."

* * *

They sat down to burritos at an umbrella table, within view of the fountain.  
"Now all we have to do is find a needle in a haystack."  
"Hmm? Oh, I wouldn'a go that far, Bentina." He said, unwrapping an end.  
"McDuck, we can't even be positive he's alive."  
"He is certainly that." Scrooge disagreed.  
"But you can't imagine he's easy to get onto."  
"Oh, it is a bit of a turnabout but I'm sure the kids will understand."  
Beakley raised an eyebrow at him. "What about the party? What about a plan?" She began eating.

Scrooge blinked at her. "Och, I suppose you're right, but I'd rather talk to him right now. If I even knew where they were."  
"Which was what I imagined I was saying..." She realised through another mouthful, "they? Launchpad's friend?" She blinked, seeing his answering expression, "Is Darkwing Duck. You can't be serious?" She chuckled at the happy coincidence and took another bite.

She could see the humour twinkling in his eyes as they finished their burritos.  
"That makes things easier..." Beakley assessed, wiping her beak with her napkin.  
Scrooge swallowed. "Not 'easiest'?"  
"Well! Is he going to trust us after what's happened; if we just '_show up_' the both of us at his door?"  
Scrooge's mirth faded into grimness, considering that.

"Grizlykoff is right; 'tis a tarnish on us all."  
"Could we persuade him to come to the party tonight, sir?"  
"Worth a shot." His phone bleeped. "that's Launchpad; they're on their way." He got up for the fountain, "How long do you reckon before they get here?"  
"Well; are they inner city?"

* * *

Some twenty minutes slid by, reading up on the old SplasherQuack case file as well as Drake Mallard's employee record. Mrs Beakley started a new case file and shared the link to Scrooge's phone.

She suddenly had the inkling to check the time. "Not inner city." Beakley declared.  
"Aye, must be at his parents' place."  
"Unless Launchpad got lost in the traffic."

"No; here they are!" Scrooge waved.

* * *

Scrooge and Beakley got back into the car. Launchpad started heading through the traffic.

Scrooge asked the moment he'd settled in with his seatbelt. "Did you have fun, kids?"

"Yes, sir, Mr McDuck!" Webbie answered in excitement.  
"Yeah, and like, nothing even tried to kill us." Louie added in genuine appreciation.  
"There was so much going on; we didn't even 'get' to play their video games." Dewey noted.  
"That was so much fun!" Webbie exclaimed, clenching her fists. "You should've been there, Uncle Scrooge!"

Scrooge smiled, feeling like the wound of his lost hour had just gotten a band-aid. "Aye, did ye talk about the party, kids?"

"Oh, they're totally coming!" Webbie shrieked, her hands in the air.  
"Drake's parents are the coolest!"  
"Oh, uh, will Drake be coming too?" Scrooge asked lightly.  
"Oh, sure, Mr McDee." Launchpad answered in a happy calm as he put the indicator on for the next corner.

"Aye, that's a relief. I've gotten into a worry about that boy."  
"Is this about what happen at S.H.U.S.H.?" Webbie suddenly asked quite seriously.  
"Did they tell you, Uncle Scrooge?" Dewey asked in a severe tone.

"Aieee!" Scrooge blinked out at the busy traffic surrounds. Traffic lights, cars waiting in line.

"Yeah, we're gonna sort this mess out and help him, kids." He answered seriously. "We just dinnae want to give him the frights about it by us showing up at his door. Easier to talk to him at the party and it's only a few hours away."

"I don't know how talking's going to help in this situation, Uncle Scrooge." Louie was terse.  
"He needs Doctor Gearloose to help." Webbie resolved.

* * *

"Well, Mr McDuck," Mrs Beakley tried breaking the tension. "Was there anybody else we needed to interrogate for the mission while we have the children handy?"  
"Uh, not that I can think of." He hesitated and fell to thinking about the people in the case.

"...That vampire's a hard nut..."  
"You mean SplasherQuack?" Dewey asked.

"Oh, no, laddie!" Scrooge exclaimed with a jolt. "From now on, nobody says that name. We're in St Canard at the moment, so that's okay, but she' got very good hearing. A vampire can hear their name called from fifty miles away and she's somewhere lurking in Duckburg. Just dash her name from your minds; if you want to talk about it, just say 'vampire'."

The car was silent.

"Okay, Mr McDuck." Webbie said in a tiny voice.  
"Och, I doon' mean to frighten you, kids. But we love ye's all very much."

"Know any good anti-vampire strategies to tell the children, sir?" Mrs Beakley suggested to help.

"O' course I do!" Scrooge felt a grimness firming in his mind. "Or my name isn't Scrooge McDuck."


	9. Party

**More Darkness**

* * *

**15**

**Party**

* * *

Drake got out of the car beside the giant cement potted bush and straightened his tie and jacket.

"Oh, my legs, such a relief." Eleanor remarked, breathing deeply, her silver evening dress glinting in the lamp light shining down on her. "Oh, look at the roses, Drake!" She pointed with her white gloved hand.  
Drake sniffed, looking at the pot. "Wow, some of those flowers are huge."  
"Check out the foundations on this place! This is a perfect example of new classic architecture. I can't wait to get inside!" Harold enthused as he took to Eleanor's side.

* * *

"This is so cool." Drake breathed out some nervous tension, advancing on the place. "I don't know anybody or anything they've done! I can just relax, take a break, nup, no fighting tonight! No way, not a chance. Not me..."  
"Drake..." His father put his hand on his shoulder to comfort him, "Uh, you're so keyed up!" He frowned, letting go. "Look; whatever happens, your mother and I have got your back, alright?"  
Drake smiled weakly. "Thanks, dad."

The Dimes for Ducklings charity event had door attendants collecting tickets and desk attendants selling last minute tickets.  
"Three, thank you." Eleanor paid for the tickets and they stepped inside.

* * *

They went up the stairs, up the decadent corridor into the ballroom. There were a lot of people milling this way and that but it wasn't crowded and the music wasn't super noisy like some parties Drake had been to.

"The architecture on this place!" Harold enthused, "That french window is just over the top huge!"  
"I like the curtains. Look at the shimmer on the dark green." Eleanor added.  
"Yes, they look heavy-let's take a look. I'd like to know if we can use them in case of a fire..."

Diverting from his parents, Drake took the last two steps to the buffet tables. There were three tables joined together in a starchy white table cloth. Across the table, the full expanse of the room could be seen. The music track coming out of the speakers from the DJ booth was peppy and newish sounding.  
The crowd looked reasonably well mixed. They were mostly his age and older, however, so the DJ would be playing a good variety of hits as the night went on. There was a white grand piano tucked away in the back corner. Almost a crime that it wouldn't get played tonight.

* * *

Drake looked to the woman standing at the other end of the table. Her black hair was done up into a bun, she wore a black and red evening dress that, from high collar to the nearly dragging hem, said 'I'm respectable'. An easy person to talk to. He walked up to her.

"Hello." He smiled at her. "I can see you're thinking very hard about something? I'm Drake Mallard..."

She turned to look at him. Her blue-green eyes almost had a glow and there was something in her entire being suddenly pulling on his heart strings.

"Morgana Macawber." She held out her hand and he kissed her fingers. The touch of her felt like a low level electric charge. She smiled at him, withdrawing her hand. "I was just concerning myself with my appearance in this place. I feel more than a trifle overdressed."  
"You look beautiful! I mean, you look fine."  
She stopped, eyeing him quizzically, slightly put off, "Erm, which is it; beautiful or fine? There's a rather powerful difference between those two things."  
"For the party you're fine." He amended, feeling his nerves take a second wave, "See the woman over the left wearing the emerald green?"  
"Yes, but she's twice my age."  
"There's still two of you."  
She shrugged, "people are looking at me, oh, what did I expect? These are my grandmama's clothes."

Drake turned away, looking down at the olives. "Party clothes are expensive." Drake stated, "Especially when you barely ever wear them. There's no shame in saving money by wearing what you've got. You're being frugal. It's none of their business."  
"So nice to meet someone not condescending for a change." She breathed in relief. "So, uh, what business are you into?"  
"Trouble." He answered, looking at her. "I find it and I flatten it."  
"...It's not that universally easy."  
"There's not a person I can't handle."  
"You're joking!" She chuckled nervously. "No, you're not. But there are, um, 'people of impossibility'. Trouble you couldn't comprehend."

Drake narrowed his eyes. Her reluctance suggested it wasn't an insult. Was she actually talking about The Twilight Zone then? He grabbed a napkin from the table and wrote on it.

_Civic Services  
__Mallard Manor  
__344 Knights Way  
__Mireham, St Canard_

He added his phone number just in case she actually had access to a phone in her otherworldly life and handed it to her. "I think you'll find me an attentive student."  
"I get your meaning. Thank you." She put it in her tiny purse. "Even if it never eventuates to anything, your overture means a lot."

"So that's my deal, how about you, Morgana?"  
"Well, actually I'm in the gastronomical industry. I'd like to open my own restaurant one day. Tell me. What do you think of these dishes here?"  
Drake looked down, each dish had a card to say what was in it, gluten free, dairy, nut free. "It's a good range. Everybody's got to like something on this table."  
"Is there anything that takes your particular fancy?"

He couldn't even think of the answer! Nothing was edible right now. Drake gulped, glancing back her way, "I'm not allergic or anything... But you know... food... and people..."  
"However do you mean?" She asked a mix of puzzlement and concern.  
He turned to her again. "Take us, for example." He gestured. "I don't know anything about you. Who are you, what's your motivation in life, are you married, do you have kids, is there a jealous boyfriend behind me about ready to knock my block off?"

Morgana's eyes flew open and stepped back, looking over Drake's head. "Mortimer."

**"Of course I wouldn't do that."**

Drake flinched at the nasty tone in the guy's voice. Tall, dark, handsome skirted around Drake and took Morgana's arm by the elbow. Drake saw her flinch. Mortimer practically dragged her back into the party to dance.

He felt his feathers curling again as he glared at Mortimer. "Think I know you." How they were dancing, his motions, her reactions.

She didn't want to be there.

Morgana was a strong-willed person. How did she get trapped with this guy? Why? And would she ever ask for Drake's help? Was there enough evidence that Drake could just jump the jerk? No. Mortimer hadn't taken a shot at Drake. The guy thought he reigned supreme... no he didn't? Drake considered; this guy was hiding under a layer of manners. Morgana didn't think Drake had a chance; what kind of supernatural was he then?

* * *

"Drake Mallard?" McDuck's voice broke his concentration.

"Oh, Hello, Mr McDuck!" Drake turned with a smile. "Nice party."  
"So... how are you, my boy? Erm, well... I would hope?" McDuck's question was a thick brick of 'you need a hospital' wrapped up in a pillow of social politeness.  
"No. I'm infected with an extremely volatile substance that's threatening to explode me inside out. You don't happen to have any research specialists in nano or bio-engineering handy, do you?"  
"Yes, I do." Scrooge frowned, "Och, I need to brief you, boy. Come round to another room with me."

Drake followed him into a nearby sitting room and shut the door.

"This is stupidly elaborate, sir." Drake clenched his fists "I was out cold for an hour. He had plenty of time to kill me properly!"  
"Oh, he wasna after you, lad."  
"Okay, Mr McDuck, you have a point." Drake breathed, "So how does my not being alive help him?"

"For sure it doesn't." McDuck stated with finality.

"No?"  
"He was trying to rescue someone. What you got inside you's meant to be the key." Scrooge grimaced. "He dinnae mean to kill you lad, but he's not shown you a shred of respect neither."  
Hearing his issues appreciated felt like a small weight had lifted. "Thank you, sir." He breathed.  
"Aye, take ye' time, laddie. It's a lot of nonsense to get your head around."

"Who is he trying to save?"  
"Ach," Scrooge cringed, "I cannae say the name of a vampire, lad. She's somewhere in a fifty mile radius."

SplasherQuack.

"He called it 'antijack'. If he only briefed you; the fool."  
"Protocol 2 and protocol 15!" Drake fumed. "Protocol 5; he's been breaching protocol 5 for thirty years; that's his job, does he-he must know, that's why he's been circumventing protocol 1!"

"Aye, it's desperation, laddie. He has feelings for her. Can't stand to think of her suffering."  
"The director doesn't have the luxury to have feelings, Mr McDuck, he's in charge of the big picture. He can't just take matters into his own hands like a field agent or S.H.U.S.H.'ll _'make'_ him a field agent! Protocol 5!"

"Aye, you got your marbles alright." Scrooge frowned.  
Drake stopped, "Sorry, what about my marbles?"

"Ye' upset, and so you should be. Ye' know it could'a happened to anyone."  
Drake sighed, gratefully, "Thanks, Mr McDuck."  
"Probably helps me being Scottish. You're burning up inside, lad. Take ye'self down to my research labs in the morning and let my team see what they can do."

"Finding the vampire will probably be the answer."

"I doona know what you'll find on the other end of that idea, lad." Scrooge frowned seriously, "First thing wrong, is that stuff is meant to be inert in you. We cannae know if it'll still work like it was meant to. My team can look at it from a few angles for you. Second thing wrong is you're facing off against a vampire. Assistant Director Grizlykoff asked me to give you every option that I can." Scrooge handed him a small brown paper wrapped package. "I don' go in for magic; it's just a bit of fairy dust to help even the odds for you."  
Drake breathed. "Thank you, sir. How does it work?"  
"You gotta believe in it." Scrooge shrugged. "Like you believe in yourself."  
Drake nodded. "That's versatile..." An 'insert-blank-here' crime fighting tool?  
"Aye, it's one dose an' I'm all out of it now," Scrooge said in a strict tone, "so you dash those funny ideas you're getting out o' ye' head. It only lasts a few hours too." He added in a less parental warning.

"Mr McDuck, that is practically a life time. Thank you. I better go find my parents. Dad was doing a fire safety check."  
"Och, we did a safety check."  
"Yeah, but if there is a fire, dad'll be the one putting it out."  
"Aye." Scrooge smiled at him.

A little more calm, Drake opened the door and headed back into the party.


	10. Gizmo-Chase

**More Darkness**

* * *

**16**

**Gizmo-Chase**

* * *

The La Croix restaurant on the harbour-side of Duckburg had a blue themed decor. The tables were small and rectangular, the chairs white with blue cushioning and an old sailing ship's wheel hung from the ceiling as a chandelier. While a lot of the stuff on the menu was fish or pizza related, two things Starling wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, La Croix also happened to have the best lamb shanks this side of a country pub.

Starling was three quarters through his meal, enjoying potato mash and gravy, casually reading over the pages of script he'd written.

The climax didn't seem to want to sit right. And the payoff in the final scenes somehow wasn't lining up with the first two scenes.  
"What have I done? What? It doesn't seem cheesy..."

He glanced up at some extra ambient noise. It was just some nervous kid with his girlfriend.

He thought back to the _Darkwing First Darkness_ script again. That kid'd turned it into a circus. There barely had even _been_ a Megavolt. It was all just one guy slowly falling apart like a wedge of ice pulled off a windshield. Sure, it had a moral indignity to it. About suffering.

But it was quiet. A little _too_ quiet.

* * *

The door burst open and a blaze of white lit up Starling's unseeing vision.

**"You think you could hide from me forever, villain?"**

Fork still in hand, Starling gazed at Gizmoduck pointing back at him, "Oh, no. Here we go again." He rolled his eyes and stuffed his script in his jacket. "Get a life, Buzzlight; some people are trying to eat!" He flipped up the table at Gizmoduck and took off out the front door.

Starling zipped around the corner, wide eyed, back to the wall.  
"What I gotta do to get some dinner in this town?!"

**"Surrender, villain!"** Gizmoduck called.

"What are you, robodog? Quit following me around, you K9!"  
He ducked the robotic hands, landed a sliding kick just above Gizmoduck's uni-tyre, sending him crashing over. Starling rolled and jumped on Gizmoduck's back, jamming the fork into the nearly invisible panel, ripping it open and pulling a bunch of wires and bits. There was a moment of electric discharge.

**"Nobody messes with me while I'm eating!"** He thundered at Gizmoduck and walked off.

* * *

Starling got to his bike parked in the lot. "Well, that takes care of that buzz-head for a while. I could probably just stroll through the front door of that party now..." He debated.  
"Eh, I dunno... Would I do that?"

Half-minded about his new persona, Starling headed to the big fancy building that all the cars were currently lined up outside of. He parked on the side street.

"Well, feels right, so far..." He shrugged and walked up the lamp-lit street to the building. Even the streetlights in Duckburg had that extra touch of fancy; giving off a warm and inviting feeling.

Duckburg; such a nice place. It was so easy to write something grim and gritty here. For every warm light, and every cheery flower box, served an echoing reminder of the cold, dark world they were so desperately hiding.

The cracked world. _This_ world. Where heroes were villains, trapped in a losing battle against their own flaws. Alone, shunned and un-forgiven; no matter how hard they tried.

Darn, if he could only fit _that_ stuff into script form he'd be the _king_ of this.

* * *

A bit away, across the street, Starling considered for a time. Who was he in respect to taking up those fanciful steps?

"Nah, don't think I'd get along much in that doodied up place. Wrong kind of party... Yeah, I'm more of a..."

He eyed the orange shirted figures heading up the front steps.

"Beagle Boys? They're actually gonna...? For real!" He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, man, I have got to see this show!" Curiosity and excitement made him break into a run. He raced around to the back of the building, climbing with motivation up the brickwork, "Man what a window! And the curtain's wide open. I'm gonna see everything from here!"

Just in time, he saw the three Beagle Boys storm through the open door at the other side.

**"Alright, folks, this is a hold up! You know the drill."**


	11. Play Time

**More Darkness**

* * *

**17**

**Negaduck**

* * *

Drake considered the three Beagle Boys closing in on the party. "I need a distraction."

"I'll do it." His mother thumbed to herself. "Harold, the tape." Eleanor pointed to the DJ booth.  
His dad grew serious. "Get your place."

* * *

The music from the tape burst through the speakers. A cloud of glittery white smoke appeared to the left of the crowd.

**"I am the alto that sings in the night."**

Drake quietly slipped under the attention of the nearby beagle boy.

**"I am the stand-in stand up comedian you didn't come here to watch!"**

Drake crept behind the heavy curtain pulled up next to the wall.

**"I am Silvya Silverstein!"**

Jazz music burst from the speakers.

In two seconds, Drake had changed into his purple costume. He peered out as his mother started her Darkwing Duck act.

The Beagle Boys were pretty enthralled by her. His mother really knew how to take centre stage.

**"In the night-time streets of St Canard!"** His mother began a dramatic recital.

Drake took a moment to feel the calm from the familiar bed time story. "I love this story."

**"A scream!"**

**"The sound of running footsteps."**

Drake crept quietly against the wall, circling around behind Bouncer standing post at the door.

**"How far can the criminals run?"**

**"Where can they hide?"**

"H!" Bouncer noticed him and Drake's knock out move fell shy. Drake swept his leg and landed on top, this time his next blow knocked Bouncer out. He tied the beagle's hands so he'd be useless if he woke up before the police arrived and then dragged him back behind the curtain.

**"Shadows lurk everywhere."**

**"In the closet; behind the television set!"**

He peered out from the curtain place. Over his mother's dramatic cadences, nobody had noticed the less than perfect take down.

The next easy Beagle Boy was Burger by the buffet table.

**"Outside the bedroom window the wind whispers."**

**"Darkwing Duck."**

Drake crept up behind the towering Burger, jumped and knocked him out.

**"He's coming for them."**

He pulled the Beagle under the table. It was a tight fit for the big guy, but there weren't any dining chairs so that made it easy.

**"They turn the lights on."**

**"But nothing can stop the dark terror that haunts their nightmares."**

He tied up Burger's hands. No more play-time for this guy tonight either.

**"The baddest of good, the champion of right."**

**"He will never give up; he will always fight."**

From the gloom under the table, Drake lifted the edge of the table cloth and peered out, assessing the location of anyone who might notice him, and the next Beagle Boy he could take anonymously out.

**"He will never be beaten, he will never stay down."**

**"With courage and valor, integrity and honour."**

**"He is the unstoppable terror that flaps in the night."**

* * *

"Oh, please." Big Time complained about the distraction the moment the poetry stopped and the jazz music started, "What a two-bit ham fest. Burger-...?" He tried to muster up the attention of his brother, only to realise he wasn't there.

"Hey, where did Burger go?" Fuming and puzzled, he stepped up to the table, pondering the question. "Bouncer?"

Drake reached forward, pulling Big Time under by the ankles and knocking him out. In a moment, he tied Big Time up as well.

"Darn, that's the last of my rope. And it's getting crowded under here..." He lifted the edge of the table cloth and peered out again. "Unless I'm actually done." He eyed the unconscious Beagles in an anti climax. "I thought this was building up to something. Where's the rest of you? Why are there only three?"

Big Time wasn't answering at the moment.

"Well, it's not my place to judge criminal incompetence. I guess. No crime too big or small so long as citizen lives are in danger." He slipped out from under the table and headed towards the door. The changing curtain was... occupied.

* * *

Drake reached the doorway as the music finished and the crowd started clapping.

Suddenly the window shattered behind him.

**"Wow; you're sure something else, lady!"**

He froze. That voice! There was no getting behind Jim Starling like he had with the Beagle Boys.

Not unless it was three dimension-ally. Drake spun around and headed to the curtain.

**"You wrote that yourself or did you just steal the 'whole' thing?"**

Drake climbed over Bouncer's unconscious form and scaled the curtain.

**"I am just an entertainer!"** Silvya gestured to the crowd emphatically.

He edged along the top till he was perched in a straight line above this guy. No! Starling was too close to his mum! Drake wasn't that sure of himself doing this move to say he wouldn't hit her as well.

**"Back by popular demand, huh? I like it."**

Drake shook his head in surprised. "Say what now?"

* * *

Drake watched his father slowly approaching the red and yellowed costume guy from the side. "Dad?"

**"Yeah. Hit the grim gritty realism quota I been looking for."**

"_You!_ Get away from my wife, you _two-bit, red-herring, caper-flipping, pickle-pushing __mayonnaise jar_!"

Eleanor escaped the crash zone. Starling spun around and deflected Harold's blows easily, finally knocking him down to the ground.

"You know the buffet table's right over there." Jim slighted casually.

Now! Drake dashed the tiny smoke pellet onto the curtain.

**"I am the terror that flaps in the night!"**

**"You again?"** The yellow costume stared up at him in surprise. _**"Quit stealing my act!"**_

Drake jumped, spreading his new fabric cape wide, his fall went into a slight glide and he crashed headlong into the yellow costumed loose cannon.

Drake got up on his feet, glaring at the other guy also getting on his feet. Jim Starling was tough.

"Anybody got some rope? Coz this is gonna get real..." He grinned. **"Dangerous."**

* * *

Punch, kick, block, spin.

"Well, this is a re-run." Drake dodged, then blocked, threw a punch that didn't connect, dodged... "Why are you doing this?" He exclaimed. "You think this is a set? Look around you!"

Starling grabbed a knife from the table, Drake grabbed the bowl.

"Have some punch!" Drake sloshed the contents over Starling, then hit him with the bowl and kicked the knife out of his hand.

_"Ugh!"_ Jim Starling stopped to consider his wet sticky state, glaring at him. **"You really think you're better than me, huh kid?"** Jim Starling sniggered.  
Drake felt a surge of anger. "_Would you like the answer in book form or screen play?_"

Punch, kick, block, spin.

They got closer to the window again.  
**"Just give me the highlights."**  
Drake jumped up the curtain over Bouncer and added the momentum to his double web kick. Starling went flying along the table, taking the table cloth with him and hitting the opposite wall.

**"Breaking and entering!"** He gestured to the glass shattered floor. "Reckless endangerment, destruction of private property, attempted murder. Any of this ring a bell? _You have l-ost it!_"

Starling was shaken. He clenched his fists, wide-eyed. He looked a little pale.

_"Get up!" _Drake gritted. "Like you always do." He jumped onto the table. "_I know you want to keep fighting!_"  
Starling stood up, leaning against the wall. **"I 'made' you!"** He gritted angrily, balling both fists.  
"Yeah, well, you're not looking so good... 'dad'."

_**"Yeah? And the joke's on you!"** _Starling yelled back, "You're not going anywhere with that character; the story's been told; **you're a dead duck walking!**"

* * *

"Character?" Drake felt a tremor of fear. Hooter had said 'mental health issues'. "I-I was supposed to be on a holiday, but then the Beagle Boys, and then you..._Oi_!" Drake balled his fear into fury, wait, actually Hooter was the bad guy. "Nice try, 'Nega-duck' but you're never getting _'me'_ down!" Drake jumped at Starling, Starling dodged the blow. Instead of blocking, Drake risked a follow-up punch and it connected. Drake spun about and landed a blow across Starling's shoulder blades sending him sprawling to the floor.

Starling grumbled, getting himself onto an elbow. "This isn't going to end until one of us gets horribly mangled in a combine harvester."

**"Get up!"**

Starling froze. "Don't tell me what to do!"

_**"We can't keep fighting if you don't get up!"**_

"You got me, Darkwing." It was some ham acting, "I can't do this anymore." Starling faked a pathetic sigh, "I'm so tired. My life, everything."

Drake played along. "Wait... that doesn't sound like you..."

Starling grabbed the table and flung it at Drake. Drake jumped straight over it and tackled Starling headfirst to the ground.

"I've seen all yours 'and' your opponent moves, Starling. there's nothing new that you can-."

_'Beep-Beep!'_

Watch alarm?!

A split second and Starling kicked him away. He ran to the window and jumped out.

_"Ugh!"_ Stupid watch! Drake raced after Starling._ "I'll get you!"_ He stopped, confronted with shards of broken glass. _"Come back here, I'm not done with you!"_ He clenched his fists, "I-gyah." He sighed. He needed the tranquilizer shot. That was what he'd set the watch alarm for. "Regroup." He spun around and dashed to the door.

* * *

Scrooge McDuck stood obstructing his exit. "Whoa, laddie, slow down."

_"I can't, Mr. McDuck, and that is an extremely dangerous-."_

"I know, believe me. But there's nothing more important than keeping your feathers about it."

"Erm, what?"

"It's a fight, I get that." McDuck shrugged. "But you cannae let him dictate how you make your next play." He rolled his eyes in a light humour, "He thinks he 'made' you. If there's any truth in that; you're only gonna win by thinking outside the box. He wants you to go gallivanting about like a headless hoofin-ninny after him. But you're a S.H.U.S.H. agent, sonny. You know a carefully designed plan makes a _'world'_ of difference."

_"You're absolutely right!"_ Drake smiled madly. _"S.H.U.S.H. is the web of deception that _nobody _wants to get caught in!"_ He skirted McDuck and took off through the door.

"Aiee..."

* * *

Drake was going to find this guy, but he needed that tranquilizer first. He rushed out of the place and stopped by the car. The air smelt sticky. He looked around, checking under the cars and behind the pot plant. He must've just passed by.

_"Okay, first, I need to buy some more rope. Second, I need to get the car open so I can get my stuff. Third... third, I need a plan. That should probably be number one, or no, number two oh-don't lose count, this is easy!"_ He clenched his fists angrily. _**"Give me, Drake Mallard, a record? ME? I'll give you a record! I'm gonna rec'rd you so hard you'll be in jail for TWENTY YEARS**!"_

Drake turned as his father approached him.

Harold stared meaningfully at him for a long moment.

"We're going home."

_"What?"_ Drake exclaimed in electric shock. _"Now? What about Negaduck? He's out there; loose!"_

His mother sighed, "He's not just loose, Darkwing."  
"He's setting you up, is what he's doing." His dad finished. "McDuck is right, we need to go home, regroup. Go hunt for Negaduck any other time than..." Harold looked down at his watch. "Well, whenever your blood cools off."  
"But _**that's NEVER**_!" Drake swallowed.

"Drake, you mother got far closer to that guy than I ever want to think of."  
"Then give me my stuff."  
"Drake!"  
"I can't get anywhere if I don't keep going. I need McDuck's research team."  
"Drake, one more day-."

_"It's my stuff-and it's not going to last forever!_ Plus, Negaduck's way more interested in _'me'_ than either of you guys. I'm the only one who puts up the fight he needs."  
"Where are you going to sleep?"  
_"Not a problem, mum; I don't sleep!"_

Harold glanced at the people coming in to the car park. "Fine." He unlocked the car.

Drake opened the back seat and picked up the medicine and water bottles, and his grapple loaded gas gun from the floor. "You guys get home. And don't worry about Negaduck. He's actually my best friend." He closed the car door.

Drake stepped away from the car as his father started the engine and knelt down behind the nearby giant rose pot to swallow the tranquilizer shot. "I'm going to pull your entire life apart one year at a time, you rotten double-crossing wool-pulling pencil-pushing disrespecting reprehensible incendiary maniac! _I'm sending you back to kindergarten!_"

**"Heh. And there I was thinking you couldn't throw insults."**

Drake froze, looking up at Negaduck in fright. Face to face two feet away, the sneaky snake! "Why are you 'in' the bush?"  
"It's a good hiding place."  
"Yeah, but you know it's a rose bush, right? You'll wreck your cape."

There was a moment of realisation before Negaduck snorted anyway. "Then it's an even better hiding place coz' it's not the one 'you'd' pick."

Drake shook his head, putting the bottles onto his utility sash. There was too much stuff on him and it wasn't even crime-fighting related. "There I was thinking I needed a car to get to you."  
"Ah, come on, and miss that whole scene with you and your parents?"  
"I'm usually much better behaved." Drake sighed.

Negaduck looked at him quizzically, "Right, that's what I got out of it."

_"I don't care what you got out of it!_ That's what '_I'_ got out of it..." Drake finished sadly.

"No, you just care about getting revenge."  
_"Revenge?_ What he's done is wrong!" Drake looked up at Negaduck. "Picture a school, for a moment. Not my school, because that was horrible. But. You got your kids, then your teachers, then there's the principle... Well, in this school, you're child A and I'm child B."

"I'm falling asleep." Negaduck rolled his eyes.

"Child B got sent to the principles office for taking notes off the board." Drake clenched his fist, "Sorry, I thought it was interesting because it happens to be my life at the moment." Drake turned aside from him to leave.

**"Hey, where'd'ya think you're going?"  
**"You've calmed down now."  
**"No, _you've_ calmed down now!"**

Drake hesitated, looking back; "I don't know what you're up to, Negaduck, but I'm sure it's something. Unfortunately, I can't afford to stick around; and you can blame the guy with the window seat for that. I'll catch you later, I have to go now; I do _'not'_ have a car." He stepped off, "**Party's over, Negaduck."**

"You know it's probably empty this time of night; wherever it is you're going! Ah... whatever. Find out the hard way."


	12. Beauty and the Beast

_Just a little change  
__Small to say the least  
__Both a little scared  
__Neither one prepared..._

* * *

**More Darkness**

* * *

**18**

**Beauty and the Beast**

* * *

Running. Forever running. Drake was on the final leg: the bridge to Scrooge McDuck's money bin. This building was where the research team worked. The people that could help Drake. As he got closer, he began deciphering the details of the entrance tunnel to the building.

It was shut.

It was secure access.

Inexplicably, his feet stopped and he keeled forwards onto the cement.

* * *

Confused, Drake sat up, abstractly considering his feet and why he had just fallen over without warning.

His bones were aching. They were possibly the only thing not infected with the antijack.

What was the time? Drake pulled out his phone and looked. After twelve. There were nine, at least eight hours to wait to do anything.  
_"You can't go find Negaduck yet, Drake; get a grip!"_ He admonished the impulse. "It's the antijack. Wants me to keep fighting. I've got to get control of it somehow."

Drake moved and sat down on the edge of the road, to let his aching lower legs dangle freely over the water. The antijack was only about the fight. It had no consciousness, no sense of self-preservation, or even for that matter a sense of _'his' _preservation_._ All that was still left to Drake. He had to get a grip. But how? Had there been any hints in the absence of protocol 2? What about Bellum?

He pulled out his notebook, flicking through his notes, reciting questions still unresolved. "How many agents has Bellum killed on Hooter's order? ...Is he afraid of anyone knowing his wild west side?" Drake narrowed his eyes, "Did he really only come to St Canard for the management job?"

* * *

The sound of a car engine grew louder. In reflex, Drake flipped down out of sight down the side, holding the edge by his fingers. Against the wall he was just a colour. In the dark, his colour was practically invisible.

The gate to the money bin opened and the slow travelling car went into the building.

Drake jumped up, sprinted the last few metres and dove under the closing door.

* * *

Drake followed the car to an unmarked parking space a small distance away from the lift. It was the only car in here at this hour. Between those facts, this was likely to be either a no-short-cutting-rules or an I-always-park-here type of employee.

Research scientist employee?

The driver got out the car. He was wearing a white evening suit and was grumbling to himself as he pulled out a very bulky and heavy-looking khaki sports bag. "I think this is what they call a 'dangerous liaison'."

Who would be carrying one of those at this hour? A criminal?

Drake approached from the other side of the car. "Hi, you look frustrated. Can I maybe help you with something?"

The duck jumped. "You! I mean... Who are you?"

"I am...!"

Drake looked at his fingers holding the edge of his cape ...Stuck somewhere between Drake Mallard and Darkwing Duck. He lowered his arms. "Um, how are you?" He took a step forward and the guy flinched, tensely both protecting and being thwarted by the bag.

Skinny guy, heavy bag. One question: Why?

"Umph, fine. How'd you get into the Money Bin? This building-."  
"I-followed-you and I'm-not-slow!" Drake retaliated. "D'oh." Drake closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. It's just, you know." He sighed. "When you're not feeling well. What's in the bag?"  
"Er, vital research equipment."  
Drake narrowed his eyes at the lie. "So I take it the _'research'_ isn't going so well, huh?"

The duck narrowed his eyes back in return. He was standing his ground. "I can't say that's any of your business!" He answered with a royal level of indignation.

"Yeah, but if you're not doing anything..." Drake looked at the bag again then back to the duck. "And this is Duckburg... and it's a science lab, then you... Are you Gizmoduck?" One confronted bundle of nerves before him said 'yes'. The momentary wonder sank into heavy disappointment. The answer was still eight hours away.

* * *

"I have to assume the whole world knows at this point." Fenton said with regret. He gazed back at the uninvited purple mask wearing duck in cape and hat. The yellow one was a heap more aggressive with a bad attitude. These two were obviously working together; whatever it was it wasn't a circus performance.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else. Can I help you with anything?" The interloper headed to the lift, then looked back, glancing to the bag in Fenton's hands. "That thing looks like a real drag when you're not wearing it, man and there was I complaining about an umbrella."

This was ridiculous. The guy was trying to make small talk and he wasn't even a disguised spy! "Excuse me, but you'e not authorised to be in this area! I will have to ask you to leave!"

"Mr McDuck invited me; I mean, he did say 'morning' but that means I have nothing to do for seven hours, _will you_...!" Something snapped. "Stop moving so slow, hurry up!" He raced around behind Fenton, _"What is with you that's wrong with you, look, let me carry that hunk of-."_

Purple grabbed the bag. Fenton pulled back as hard as he could and the bag flew several metres off behind him. Gizmosuit or not, Fenton was done with this felon.

Fenton threw a punch and the guy swanned the attack, grabbed his arm and twisted, easily pinning it behind Fenton's back. It was this point he realised he needed to find time for boxing classes.

"You're telling me it's broken?" The purple duck let go and somersaulted metres off, "How did it break, that's the best tech the world has to offer-are-you-alright?"  
Fenton blinked at him. What gambit was this?  
"I mean, you were obviously wearing it at the time, so 'are you alright'?"

"It didn't 'just break' it...!" Fenton stopped, brushing himself off. If purple was genuinely asking about his welfare this was not matching with the guy who beat him up before dinner. Adding to that, Fenton felt he could be over-reacting having spent the entire evening half-way to enjoying himself and half-way to stressing over the huge 'to be continued' sign over Gandra D's funding issues. "I'm sorry if I took that out on you; I've had a rather rough night conjugating mixed signals."

"Look, I've been studying electronics. Maybe I can help you fix it."  
That was confidential Gizmotech this guy was offering to put his hands on. "Thanks. I don't need any help, th-."

Purple grabbed him fiercely, a sudden desperate look in his eye. "_No-you-don't-understand-I_...!" He let go, pulling away, "What about mopping, mopping's fun," he grabbed Fenton again, "_You got a mop, kid?!_"

No spy was this desperate for anything but getting out of trouble. Fenton plied him off calmly, "My name is Fenton." He said, straightening his clothes. This guy was only maybe ten years older than him. "I'm not a 'kid'. Though that may be trouble for some to believe." Like Doctor Gearloose.

"The-tablet's-not-working." Purple muttered, turning away. He was disturbed, unsettled. "Did-Doctor-Ryde-really-mean 'one a day', or-maybe-he-meant 'two' once a day since-the-first-dose-was-two? Judging by my-inability-to-cope with-a-simple 've-ry normal' social interaction, I'm-going-to-go with 'two." He pulled a medicine bottle from behind him and took out a tablet.

Fenton took the bottle from his hand as purple pulled out a water bottle and considered the label.

_Darkwing Duck, tranquilizers, take two tablets once a day with water, Doctor Ryde, Police Department, St Canard._

"These are for people in over-agitated conditions that require sleep." What possible condition did 'Darkwing' have to require the entire bottle?  
"Yeah, ha. Watch me nod off." Darkwing put the two bottles back on his sash. He pressed the button for the lift. The door opened and he hoisted in the bag.  
_"Hey!"_ Fenton rushed into the lift after him.

Darkwing put down the bag between them, looking dryly at Fenton. "Wanna arm wrestle me over it?" He asked as the doors closed.

Fenton glared, reproachful of the rebuke. If he had the extra hour everyday to himself, he still probably wouldn't waste it in the gym because it was not a high enough priority and then he'd still be pinned by this guy like a rag doll.

Darkwing sighed. "I'm sorry I called you 'kid'."  
"Yeah? You don't seem the kind of guy that'd be sorry about anything."  
"Well, I'm not normally wrong!" Darkwing retorted. "I'm a careful considerate individual! Normally. And this is not normal!"  
"So what else do you feel sorry for?" Fenton folded his arms. He wanted 'all' this guy's confessions while he was in the mood to spill his beans.  
"...I yelled at my parents earlier." Darkwing sighed, "I am 'so' many levels of not okay right now."

"...I'm sure they understand that you're not well." Fenton regretted. It had slipped his mind. He pressed the button for the lab level.  
"But that's hardly the point now, is it?" Darkwing returned.  
"No, it's not." Fenton agreed. Well, they seemed to have that in common.

* * *

The doors opened and they stepping out into a lab area.

Drake glanced around at the multi levels and all underwater. He spied a workbench and carried the bag to it.  
"So you said you were learning electronics; you're not an expert?"  
"Ha, no way." Drake responded. "When it comes to _'me'_ and electronics, it's all about the motorbike."  
"You're building a motorbike?"  
"I want to make it into a super cool crime fighting bike. You know, like, access to the police database, self-protection protocols, an auto-drive mode..."

Fenton opened the bag and began pulling out the parts, laying the suit out.

Drake picked up the damaged chassis. "Oh, he got you with a fork?!" He laughed.

Fenton grabbed the damaged part away from him. "What-is-wrong-with-you? He got away!"  
"Well, he's 'always' going to get away if you take that attitude!"  
"You think you know everything?" Fenton retorted in annoyance.  
"About this guy? Yeah. He's wearing a yellow and red version of my outfit. Right?"  
"That's him." Fenton went to get the spare parts.

Drake opened up the chassis to see what they were doing.

Fenton came back with a tub of pieces. "I don't even know his name, so I'd love for you to fill me in."

"I'm calling him 'Negaduck', but his name's acually Jim Starling. He suffers a bipolar temperament and that's not his fault. He's an out of work actor who hasn't caught a break in a very long time. And he has no brake. Seriously. Don't face him near a gardening shop, stay clear of the electrical appliance shop. Do not chase him into the waterworks and if there's a production factory; just say no."

"Anything is a weapon in that villain's hands."

"Yeah... because he never gives up." Drake answered sadly. "He could've fought the Beagle Boys at that party; he didn't. So did he ever have the moral code or was Darkwing Duck never more than a fantasy to him? Do I have a prayer at pulling him back into some kind of line? What is he up to? What does he want? Where's the compromise? How long will his moral outrage last? How can I contain him? How can I spare him? I have so many questions right now. As soon as I've talked to your friends in the morning I'm going to find him and hopefully I can find a way to diffuse whatever the situation with him is."

"He's an extremely violent individual. He needs to be behind bars."

Drake stopped, considering Fenton. "You heard of jousting, Fenton?"  
"Isn't that where two heavily armoured guys are trying to knock each other off their horse?"  
Drake gestured to the suit they were fixing, "Think you're winning the tournament?"

* * *

Fenton considered, "Unfortunately it's kind of Gizmoduck's main strategy."

"I'm not a fan, but that's not saying it's a bad strategy; it's just not my personal strategy. I mean, I'm basically building your strategy into my bike. So, you know; I do value it." Darkwing waffled finishing in a momentary embarrassment.  
Fenton straightened with interest. "The problem with high technology left on it's own is sentience turning hostile."  
"Nah, you're doing it wrong." Drake disagreed, "You've got to think of it like you're parent...ing..." Darkwing looked sharply at Fenton. "You're a scientist."

"Is there something I can help 'you' with?" Fenton offered.  
Darkwing showed him the medicine bottle again. "You were curious earlier."  
"Yes."

* * *

Fenton showed him to the medical bay and took a blood sample. He started analysing it through the system while Drake waited.

Drake pushed the chair, jumped on, spun around and lightly hit the desk beside Fenton. "So what Mr McDuck was saying is that I've been dosed with a counteractive agent called 'antijack'. Unfortunately it doesn't work well with an excitable personality like mine."  
"At least you seem to be holding up. Interesting this interaction is non-mutative..."  
"Yeah, Doctor Ryde said that. Nice to know it isn't _'necessarily'_ permanent. I'd like to have my body back, preferably alive."

Fenton was silent for a long moment, considering the contagion showing up on his screen.

"So what's Negaduck been up to that's got you chasing him too?" Drake asked.  
"Negaduck broke into McDuck's movie studio." Fenton answered. "Do you have any idea what he might have stolen?"  
"It could only have been the script to the _Darkwing: First Darkness_ Movie." Drake sat back in the wheelie chair, thinking as he slowly spun around. "Why would he want that? New ideas." Drake sighed, "He can't act if he doesn't have a script to work off of."  
"The last thing the world needs is someone like him getting 'new' ideas; we can't even head him off on his 'old' ideas yet."  
"Oh, I can." Drake frowned. "But he has to know I actually acted that role in the movie. So I still know all his... yeesh."

Fenton glanced at him, "What's wrong?"

"That's why he was telling me I was a dead duck walking. He was, in his own way of thinking, genuinely trying to warn me. He thinks I'm still acting." Drake put his hand to his face.

* * *

Fenton sighed and turned back to the chemistry readings. "You can't let your feelings get in the way of stopping him."

"My feelings! My-! You're kidding!" Darkwing stopped. "Fenton. If '_I_' acted on _'my'_ feelings, I'd be jailing everyone who ever looked at me funny in my whole entire life! And trust me, there wouldn't be a lot of people left." He snorted, "No, I'm using the judgement that my _'father'_ taught me. To find the good. No matter how terrible the person, always find at least one positive thing about them... and-then-use-it-to-flatten-them-like-a-pancake! No, Negaduck's the guy with the feelings; that's why I'm undoing him like a shoelace."

He wasn't sure if it was the hyper-dramatic distraction sitting in the chair beside him, but Fenton couldn't get a picture out of these bizarre results. He pulled away from the computer. "I really need to take a full bio-scan. Come this way."

* * *

Drake went and stood in the chamber Fenton showed him to. The noise of the machine buzzed around him.

"This is incredible." Fenton said through the window before he turned the machine off.

Drake stepped out beside Fenton. "The question is, is it possible that I can still get the counteragent to the intended target?"  
"It's..." Fenton frowned. "I'm sorry, Darkwing. This stuff isn't leaving your body."  
Drake stared at him. "Has it settled for just killing me, then?"  
"No. It's using you as a house. It's not 'trying' to kill you; It's just a really lousy tenant."

"What if I could bring the target into me?"  
"That depends on what the target is."  
"It's a psychokinetic organism."

Fenton blinked away, back to the screen for some time. "The basic answer is yes..."  
"Great, what's the complicated answer?"  
He looked at Darkwing, "We can assume that psychokinetic organism will want to head straight to your brain..."  
Darkwing looked away. "What's the next thing?"  
"It may not seem like it right now, but beneath that counteragent, you're physically and mentally drained."  
Darkwing curled his fingers slowly into a fist.

Fenton hesitated, "You should recover. A few days rest; maybe a week."

Darkwing jolted up, "**No!** **I will not rest** **until I know he won't do this** to _anyone else_!" He breathed. "The tranquilizers hold back the counteragent?"  
"Yes." Fenton answered.

"I need four hours plus a spare hour in case something goes wrong. Can I do it?"  
Fenton considered, "What're your times?"  
"Nine pm and one am."  
"Okay." Fenton answered, "Then you need to get the target on board before four tomorrow afternoon."

"But... that's easy." Darkwing frowned. "I'm waiting for the catch."

"After nine I don't know what you can expect. For some reason I don't think you'll be home, tucked safely in bed."  
Darkwing was tense, "**The important thing is me getting to then.** You really think the current dose is enough?"  
"The counteragent's weaponised your defences. That's why you've been having problems with normal social interactions: It fights _'using'_ you; not _'through'_ you."  
Darkwing breathed, "That makes a lot of sense. Thank you."

Darkwing turned, breezing towards the door.  
"Wait, do you need a ride to get back to St Canard?" Fenton offered him.  
"No." Darkwing answered, stopping. "That's the easiest part of the plan. But thanks, Fenton. I'm going to go find Negaduck; hopefully get him out of your feathers while I'm at it."  
"Negaduck? I have an in-built radar and I can't find this guy!" Fenton remarked.  
"I know; that helps me find him."  
"Where are you going to look that I haven't?" Fenton asked incredulously.  
"My grandfather didn't get to chief of police for nothing you know. Get some rest, Fenton. Thanks so much for your help. We should team up some time; it'd be fun!" He started walking again.

"How does finding Negaduck help you find the psychokinetic organism?"

Darkwing turned, looking back to Fenton, "Years of scripted super-villain hunts and he thinks he's still acting. What are the odds that he 'hasn't' found it for me?" Darkwing pressed the button on the lift, musing to himself as he stepped inside. "Plus he looked a little off-colour at the party. She's probably been snacking on him while he's-." The lift doors closed.


	13. Headline

**More Darkness**

* * *

**19**

**Headline**

* * *

Jim Starling took the newspaper from the mailbox at the end of the driveway. It was a leisurely stroll back along the dirt drive between the vibrant green and yellow cornfields up to his warehouse.

His mind was still full of the excitement of last night. As much as he hated the kid, it had been fun to face off against him.

Till he'd seen the Beagle Boys, trussed up and stuffed under the table like orange-coloured Brussels sprouts. At least the kid was getting himself some professional help. Seriously; Drake needed to let the police deal with those yahoos.

Starling grabbed a party croissant from the storage box on his motorbike and climbed up the ladder with newspaper in hand.

* * *

This place was really something. Dark, cozy and nobody gave a darn about it. Starling wasn't sure if it was the lack of street commotion and neighbours but he'd honestly been sleeping so well he was starting to wonder what the point of a bed was.

Chewing his salvaged breakfast, Starling sat down like usual in front of the sunbeam. He unfolded the newspaper. The front page heading made him nearly choke.

**DARKWING DUCK STOPS BEAGLE BOYS  
****Negaduck Still at Large**

He swallowed. "I made headline news? ..._Because of HIM_?"

Starling was shaking. What the heck just happened to his life? He'd invented both these characters. It had been practically a fight with himself.

'Negaduck' was splashed all over the page. According to the paper, Darkwing Duck had saved the party from him as part of a team up with the Beagle Boys. The article went on to talk about his escape and what his possible motives were.

"I tell you; my motive's to see this page again." He answered the newspaper, **"And the Beagle Boys ain't in MY league."**

The door below slammed shut.

* * *

**"I suppose you could say their _performance_ was _underwhelming."_ **Drake's now familiar voice cadenced from below.

Starling peered down below at his doppelganger. "What're you doing here so early? Shouldn't you be busy getting a straight-jacket fitted right about now?"  
"I talked to the guy on night-watch," Drake grumbled, "and... they didn't have one in my size."

Starling wasn't sure of anything by that tone. "That line came off a bit flat."  
"Starling, you crashed through a window. To give my mother a compliment. You are not a well person."  
**"Hey, that's my line!"** Starling dived off the ledge and headlong into Drake.

He got up on his feet just as Drake did. **"How'd you like that?!"**

Dodge, punch, kick, block-.

_"Argh!"_ Starling staggered back from the failed block and the strike. He felt a sudden frantic. "What the heck was that move?"  
"Snake strike. Shinqua discipline."  
Starling felt suddenly tense, "There's a huge difference between Quack Fu and Shinqua."  
"Yes. There is." Drake responded quietly. "One you know and one you don't."

**"It's also not a Darkwing Duck move!" **Starling gestured emphatically.  
"It is now. We're playing a new script. **Didn't you get a copy?**"

Starling stopped. Drake was playing the revised Darkwing? Right in his face?!

**"No; 'I'm' Darkwing Duck!"** He growled.  
"Well, so nice of you to leave those Beagle Boys for me then. I mean, it was 'that' nice I would go so far as to say it was... **'out of character'**." Drake glared icily at Starling.  
"But I wasn't..." Starling stopped.

Drake's facial expression suddenly went completely neutral.

"You know how much I _'love'_ stopping criminals," Drake chuckled, "Funny story, that's how I ended up without-a-flight-instructor. He'd-been-dodging-the-police-five-years-before I came along and put an end to his-tax-evasion." He chuckled again. "That was a while ago. I-wasn't-even-wearing-this-outfit-then, and oh-."

"What the blazes...?" Starling stared at him. His words were light, conversational but rushed and tumbling. Drake was acting a completely different part.

"-There-was-this-guy-at-the-party-last-night, oh-ho-woo, did-he-ever-look-guilty! There's one violent, sordid-history; I-can't-wait-to-start-taking-apart 'his' life."

"You're not even talking to me, are you?" Starling looked around.  
Drake laughed, grabbing his arm lightly, Starling pulled away in a creeped out feeling. There was something manic in this new act.

"Oh, oh, Negaduck, you've-got-to-hear-this-one: after-I-talked-to-you-last-night-I-met-up-with-the-most-unbelievable-person! This guy 'wasn't' guilty of 'anything'! Innocent! Can-you-believe-that? I mean, we-all-know-the-most-important-virtues-are-courage, honour and integrity, but to just walk into some other agent's life like-."

Drake stopped. "What is that?_ Oh, no. No!_"

* * *

Starling felt like a massive hand was around him, picking him up.

Drake grunted, trapped midair, in the same way as he was. _"The SplasherQuack."_

SplasherQuack? Starling looked, almost seeing a face with burning red eyes in the featureless darkness.  
"_This is so like you, Negaduck!" _Drake complained, "Gah! I should've known you'd park yourself right in a vampire's roost. Seriously, you just can't help yourself, can you?"

Then suddenly, the formless flicked Starling onto his ledge. Starling twisted around from the newspaper in time to see it fling Drake onto the ground.

Starling took in a breath, a low feeling of horror pitting in his stomach, **"Get up..."**

* * *

_"...Please, get up!_"

From Drake's motionless form below, Starling forced his attention to the almost face turned toward him. Getting closer.

"I'm..." The voice was breezy, feminine.  
**"Hey! I was playing with him!"** Starling exclaimed angrily.  
"I'm... free."  
Starling watched a figure melting into shape a few metres off.  
"I'm free?"  
A thin beak and long flowing dark hair, she looked up at him. Her eyes were blood red.  
"Ew. What are you?" He asked, slightly stilted.  
"I'm a vampire."

"Does that mean he's going to be a vampire now, because that-."  
"No. It takes a lot of gross stuff to get that to happen." She said in some mirth.  
"So what are you free of? ...And some other question that's probably vital to know here."

"The..." Her eyes widened, "Where is it?" She was suddenly not there and beside him instead, grabbing his jacket, sniffing him. "Is that juice masking the..."

* * *

With a mighty roar, Starling's motorbike suddenly revved to life. **"See you later, SplasherQuack!"** Drake's voice bellowed.

_**"Hey, that's MY Bike!"  
**_Drake let off a wild cackle that made Starling's feather's curl as he burst out through the door.

_"Yee-argh!"_ SplasherQuack recoiled into the far corner away from Starling.

He stared at her, her head in her hands. The light was streaming in, brightening up even all the way to here. "The sunlight. You're really a..." He swallowed. What could be more perfectly grim and gritty? Or, at least one that was conversational. "This is incredible."

SplasherQuack sighed, raising her head to look at him, "Oh, brother. What do _'you'_ want?"  
"Well I..." He took out his notebook and offered it to her.  
SplasherQuack eyed him and took the book.

"Is. The. Night..." She muttered, her gaze on his writing. _"What is this?!"_ She frowned unappreciatively.  
_"Hey,_ you know I'm really trying, here! I've been in here for '_days'_ writing that!"  
"Sure, right, you did work, I can see _'that'_ much. It's still the weirdest phone transcript I've ever seen."  
"_It's not a transcript, it's a script-script!_ A play-by-play on things that happen with a bunch of characters. _Fiction!"_  
"Like a TV show?"  
_"Yes!"_ He exclaimed, "_Like a TV show_!"

"Huh." She flicked through the pages.  
Starling stared at her. "Is it _'really'_ that bad?!"  
She looked down at the first page again. "I get it now."

Starling narrowed his eyes. "G-reat. So I've written a phone call instead of action sequences. that's okay; I just need more action in my action scenes..." He looked away from her, down to the newspaper again.

**DARKWING  
****Negaduck**

"He stole my bike..." He shook his head. "That movie script rewrite is really something else."

"Your friend's been possessed by the Ripperjack demon. Let-me-explain."  
Starling looked to her, raising an eyebrow. He lifted up his hands in exasperation, "I don't really have a choice here; you're sitting on my bed and he took off with my wheels. So... shoot. I guess?" He shrugged.

SplasherQuack looked affronted and moved over to the other side of the ledge, "When I was a duck, a bed had covers and a pillow."  
**_"I'm a method actor!"_** Starling retorted. _"Go on, tell me your life story then!"_  
"I'm a S.H.U.S.H. agent. End of story." She shrugged.

Starling watched her for several long moments. She was serious about the end of her story.

* * *

"Agents? Like spies?" He prompted.

"Yes."

Then he still got nothing!

"Okay, so what's the case?" He folded his arms.

"The Ripperjack possesses its host making all their most terrible feelings and desires materialise, then, when they've run out of those, it jumps to the next host killing them too. I managed to convince it that S.H.U.S.H. agents tasted better, and tricked it into jumping into me. Only my plan completely backfired when my boss refused to kill me. I set the whole thing up, practically put a bow on the package labelled 'here, use this' and he couldn't get that one thing right! D'oh, I'm sorry. But your friend is dead. Nice script though. Very... normal."

"Lifelike?" He asked, taking it back and returning it to his jacket.  
"Yeah-no, it's not me. I mean, how I remember life to be like. I've been too busy fighting that thing to even know what year it is."  
Starling stopped, turning his head to look at the sunlight on the floor down below. "So this Ripperjack's possessed Drake Mallard? How long you reckon he's got to live with that demon in him?"  
"Don't worry; I'll get him when the sun goes down."

He turned to her in confusion.

"Hopefully he can distract it long enough that I can kill it too."  
"Too?" Starling eyed her dryly. "You're just gonna kill him, in the 'hope' that you'll get what you're after?"  
"He's a S.H.U.S.H. agent. He knew the job would kill him sooner or later. I still can't get over the fact that it jumped out of me, though. It's so strange..."

Starling felt a twinge of annoyance at all this. "He's taking medicine. These things have to be connected somehow."  
"What kind of medicine?"  
"Hang on, **let me make a word up."** He mocked.  
"Oh, fine." She scoffed. "I was just making conversation."

**"Well, I wasn't!"** Starling gritted, "I only said that, because I though being both S.H.U.S.H. agents you'd want to know about '_any detail'_ that might pan out to be a way to save another of you! You know, like a '_code of honour_'?"  
"Mmhm, right, yeah. Look. My job is to stop the Ripperjack. Hooter obviously sent your friend so he could die, so I can stop the Ripperjack. Conversation over and out. Good day." She turned her back on him.

"Wait a minute, how is that obvious?"

**_"Because nothing escapes fr__om me."_**

The sudden undertone in her quiet voice made him nervous. He took a sharp breath.  
"What are you...?"  
She twisted, her red eyes glowed, staring into him like fire. She raised her arm towards him and a massive force was closing in like earlier. He recoiled, dodging away. He took a step backwards and his foot slipped on the newspaper. Backwards he fell onto the ledge. A moment and she was on him. Her fingers clenched the fabric of his jacket. Sharp teeth sank into his neck.  
_"Argh!"_

Starling grabbed his notebook from his jacket and stuffed it hard in her face.

The vampire flinched and let go.

Starling kicked her off him and struggled up to sit. He put his hand to the wound in his neck. "Ugh... my... goodness." He flinched. "That was..." He breathed. "Something else..."

As he struggled to centre himself, the world began to swim. Vertigo, dizzy. He closed his eyes. "Ugh, what..." He gritted his teeth, clenched his fist. She was doing this on purpose! **"Let...me go!"**

"Oh, no." She larked. "You're mine now."

Starling snapped his eyes open, glaring at her through the swimming haze. **"You're making a mistake messing with me!"  
**"You? You don't even know who you are. One too many cracks in the pavement." She stood up. "Sure are tasty, though... Darkwing Duck dipped in... juice."

He flinched.

She jumped up to the rafters, perching amongst the slanting supports.

He clenched his fists, trying to focus. **"Face me!" **He demanded hotly.

The sound of her laughter echoed inside his head.

* * *

He couldn't even stand like this. "Alright then, tell me why?!"

SplasherQuack answered lightly. "My last team strategy failed because my partner had a weak moment. I can't have Darkwing Duck trying to save his friend, now, can I?"

An answering pain coursed through his body making him double over.  
_"Stop it!"_  
"No, _you_ stop it." SplasherQuack returned. "A-nytime you're ready."  
Starling gritted through the pain, **"Making me an enemy..."**  
"Partner."  
**"It's going to cost you..."**  
"I have nothing to lose."  
**"You're going to regret this..."**  
"I'm doing my job."  
_"**Does it have to involve killing an innocent?!"**  
_"He's an agent. He understands."  
**_"Yeah, somehow I don't think that makes it right, sister!"  
_**"My god... just stop!"

**"I will fight you with everything I have and more! _You are never getting away with this!_"**

She landed heavily on the ledge in front of him, causing dust to shake. She glared hotly at him with her fiery eyes. "Alright. Darkwing. Let me give you a picture... let me give you a 'few' pictures. Let-me-give-you-a-hundred!"

Violent images swamped through his vision. Blood and death. When they stopped, the room was still and the pain was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief.  
"There you go; so much easier when we're not arguing." She jumped back up to the rafters. _"Partner."_

Fighting off the bitter feeling inside, Starling picked up his notebook. He knew there were some inadequacies to it, but...

None of this was supposed to happen.


	14. I am the Terror

**More Darkness**

* * *

**20**

**I am the Terror**

* * *

A tranquility settled over Drake.

A resolution. Finality. The pain was gone. His feathers were no longer on end. Life was normalising.

There was a purring amidst the noise from the motorbike.

_I am the Terror_

He'd expected a diplomatic debate with the thing that had slipped inside him. Some compromise needed at least.

_I am the Terror_

But only a whisper of his own voice spoke back softly to him.

_I am the Terror_

The Ripperjack was a mirror. A reflection with a life-force of its own. It had a hunger for passion. A strong reflection needing the same of its host. Coiled inside his mind, the Ripperjack spurred him on.

_I am the Terror_

Drake Mallard didn't need help with that.

* * *

Drake stopped the motorcycle outside the one story townhouse. The shared garden was manicured.

The first step to polishing his plan was to fill in the blanks. The S.H.U.S.H. work day had barely begun. Time afforded him the luxury.

Using the magnetic attachment on his Junior Woodchuck pocketknife, he sprang the old window latch open. He slid the wooden frame open and hoisted himself inside.

* * *

The floor was wood with Aztec mats. A cowhide rug was thrown over the lounge. A mock fireplace. Steer horns over the mantel. Racing car trophies. Monster truck tournament trophies.

Old photographs of family, new photographs of extended family. House bills, letters from siblings, books on neurology and psychosis, several books and magazines on sailing and extreme sports, a stash of vintage western comic books and fifty years worth of car, motorcycle and monster truck magazines. The last shelf held the prize for holding the most varied mash of categories Drake had ever seen in one glance. From fine art to Playduck, Hooter was all about the conversation.

Drake scouted the rest of the house and found Hooter a moderately clean yet untidy person who had filled up more than a few picture spaces with mirrors. He had a small collection of mostly classical, country and hard rock albums between records, tapes and CDs. His movie collection, both tape and disc was almost exclusively westerns, wildlife, vampires and country and hard rock music concerts.

There was an acoustic guitar standing by the desk with Hooter's computer. Drake leaned over the executive chair and used the Hakerexe usb to log in. The background picture was a pretty spy model sitting in a 1987 Viper Quack convertible. The top pins were card games and crosswords. The recent search history was dedicated to news and current political affairs.

Drawing a blank from that last incredibly boring discovery, Drake scanned through the saved file directories.

On vampires.  
On aliens.  
On neurological science.  
On behavioural science.  
On demonology.  
On filed tax returns.

Drake closed down the computer and went back out the window, remagnetising the catch to lock it.

* * *

As he drove the way back into town, Drake deciphered the key facts. The western stories were from Hooter's childhood. His obsession was on SplasherQuack and predated the Ripperjack. There was still a large missing piece in this psychological jigsaw puzzle. The only place left to look was Hooter's office.

_I am the Terror_

Drake had never read a comic book on the old west. But he had read his grandfather Sheriff Quack Mallardson's journal. Quick-draw, showdown...

"But that's Gizmoduck's strategy." Drake grumbled to himself.

_I am the Terror_

"Right." Drake agreed, "So let's get terrifying."

Drake parked the Ratcatcher as close as he could to the front door of S.H.U.S.H. and paid the parking metre up to the five pm cut off. He wrote a letter on the last page of his notebook, tore it out and folded the key inside it, opened the storage box...

Drake stared at the croissants, lettuce, tomatoes, bread. "Mr Starling, I am so sorry. I did not mean to steal your food." He put the letter in the helmet and put it in the box. "This is why I put extra hours into my plans."

* * *

Drake went for an early sandwich lunch, a full stock up on rope and gaffa tape and collected two hearty meal soup cans to add to the Ratcatcher's stash. Hopefully Starling wouldn't notice them in too much of a hurry. That was an embarrassing miscalculation. Starling was probably going to be showing up tonight with an empty stomach. Unless he took to eating unripe corn, the poor guy was plumb out of luck with over an hour's walk to get to the nearest corner store.

Drake walked a few buildings. He circled to the far side and scaled the wall, climbing up to the roof. Up top, he could make out the first S.H.U.S.H. sniper. It was time for some take-downs.

_I am the Terror_

Knock out, tie up, gaffa-tape. Drake went from one building to the next till finally he'd snuck up behind the very last sniper on the S.H.U.S.H. roof itself.

Drake used his phone's copy of the Hakerexe and hacked into the nearby system. He initiated a security override on the door locks and then moved to the camera system. Freeze frame, loop existing track. Drake moved the unconscious snipers in safely behind the door. He wrote an apologetic note about them needing to rescue the snipers from the other roofs, placed it, closed the door and went to scale down the wall.

* * *

It was now lunchtime.

From roof to drainpipe, from drainpipe to ledge, against the wall and finally in through the window.

Click, slide.

Drake looked around him. The room was vacant.

Click, files scanned. Click, files scanned, click...

_Files not scanned._

Drake narrowed his eyes at the content of Hooter's desk drawer. There was not one large folder, but two.

* * *

Drake picked up the stack and casually opened the door, "Hi, Agent Smith." Drake smiled, "Didn't see you when I went in. I'm just scanning some more files for the director; he forgot to give them to me the last time." Drake showed off the stack in his arms to her, smiling.  
"Oh, okay..." Most of the confusion on her face cleared.

He left the area for the nearby filing room and worked, scanning in the files, reading as he went.

The two largest folders were

A case reopened file on the SplasherQuack and also... on the Green Ganderino.

_Notes - Drake Mallard._

_Quiet, reserved, shy, difficulty communicating, acting out fantasy, extreme case of disconnection from reality, slow at performing given tasks, mild and friendly when approached but heavily introverted; easily entertained with menial tasks. Highly engaged with basic concepts indicating an unremarkable intelligence. He has a physical inclination to ignore nearby ladders when trying to reach high places so one can say he has a reasonable level of fitness. In every way, this individual is a prime candidate for hosting the antijack._

_Doctor Bellum reports no complications during the operation and our carrier is now resting peacefully. All that's needed now is to get Drake Mallard into contact with SplasherQuack. Agents McDuck and 22 are locals of the area she's currently in. I have requested the communications team to call them in for a mission briefing in the morning. It is an incredible relief. I can finally stop living in fear of my own death._

Drake closed the last of the stack of folders and opened the door, listening, waiting. Agent Smith walked off, heading for her regularly scheduled lunch. As he hadn't returned to the director's office, she was not concerned over his leaving it.

* * *

Drake put the stack back into Hooter's table drawer and set himself to wait beside the door with the rope in his hands.

_I am the Terror_

Some time and Hooter came into the room.

Drake tossed the lasso, pulling tight.

"What in the-?"

Drake quickly looped the rope more tightly around Hooter, fixing his hands, glaring fiercely at him.

_"My S.H.U.S.H., my game, my rules! **You** do not get to play today, you do not get to play tomorrow."_ He closed the door and pulled Hooter around the table towards the window.

"_I am Drake Mallard and **you **are coming with me_."

"Out the window are you s-!"

"What's the matter? Scared of a little OH and S?** OH and S, ha."** He scoffed, and pulled Hooter out and grappled them up to the roof.

* * *

Drake secured more rope around Hooter's hands and tossed him back a few metres.

Hooter staggered. "You really have lost it!"  
_"Focus! Hooter. _**_'You' _**_are the one on trial here!"_**  
**"You have no authority to put me on trial!"  
Drake started laughing. _"You think you still control this place. With your iron fist and silver tongue."**  
**_"We are people!"

**"We are not."** Drake countered calmly with a smile, **_"You_ are a criminal and _I_ am _your worst nightmare_!"  
**"You are Drake Mallard! You are no terror, you are no-ones nightmare and you are most certainly _not a S.H.U.S.H. agent_!"  
"You don't know a single thing about me."  
"I do. You like reading. Watching TV series. A clean house. You're quiet. Reserved. You don't go out to parties, you don't own a car; you walk to work. You talk in meaningless nonsensical riddles. You are slow at doing things."

Drake laughed, **"Ah. The innocent act always catches them out."** He walked off to rope a fallen sniper rifle to the door handle.

"Good grief! Let me go!"  
**"**Oh, no.** That isn't happening."  
**"Well, then what?"  
**"Oh, you have to wait for sundown for that."  
**"That's hours away I have cases t-!"  
Drake growled at him, brandishing his cape. Snarled.

_**"I told you; you don't play today!"**_

Hooter stumbled back, falling down to a seat. "_My god... Ripperjack._"  
**"No-oo; Drake Mallard! My ancestors built this building!** They hired the best, the most incorruptible of ducks from across the entire Audubon county! Soldiers, heroes, warriors, saints and hope-givers. The idea spread to other counties but it started here first! It's _'this'_ office that sets the precedents for all the other offices, **or did you not realise that?**" He narrowed his eyes at Hooter. "Are you seriously telling me that you had never conceived the notion that what we do here, and '_our integrity'_ affects, '_and infects'_, the other offices?"

"I... am... of some 'minor' understanding." Hooter swallowed.  
Drake let his hands to his sides. "See? **So much better when you're not lying."  
**"For any consideration, you can't keep me here forever."  
Drake folded his arms, "Why not? **Drake Mallard's county jail for the corrupted untouchables."**

Hooter swallowed. "May I... hesitate, to enquire; if you are so much in of yourself, why take on the Darkwing Duck persona?"  
_"What is this a rerun? I already told you_,** did you forget, is your mind going? Too much sunlight?** I said Darkwing Duck is everything I believe in. He personifies the family crest on my wall. He showed me in full technicolour what it means to be a Mallard; gave me courage and faith, taught me never to give up fighting for my convictions. **Or, that is to say, _your_ conviction.**"

"I am not a criminal!"  
_"My ancestors built S.H.U.S.H.!_ And you've twisted it into an affronting insult to its own principles."  
"If my decisions-."  
**"Overruled. Vladimir Grizlykoff is the Director now."  
**"You don't have the authority to do that!"  
**"Two things.**" Drake said in a cold dark tone.  
Hooter swallowed, "What are they?"  
**"One: Yes I do and Two: I have already done it."**

"Oh, there's no talking to you; you continue to perpetuate this delusi-."  
Drake turned about, brandishing cape, picking Hooter up, snarling with a glare.  
_"Argh!"_

With a low rumbling growl, Drake dropped Hooter back and prowled over to the edge.

**"Sundown: when the fun begins. Darkness falls and all the crooks come out to play. But there is one duck that can fight the darkness: with _more darkness._"**

He turned slowly around, smiling maniacally at Hooter. **"We have the afternoon, so why don't we get started?"** He laughed darkly.  
"Started? Oh, my god..." Hooter swallowed. "What are you going to do to me?"

**"Oh, I'm going to tell you a story. And, like any good storyteller, I'm going to start at the beginning."** He advanced on Hooter, smiling viciously. **"Penned in my own grandfather's writing; the first chapter in this story is called... _Protocol 1._"**


	15. Protocol 1

**More Darkness**

* * *

**21**

**Protocol 1**

* * *

Starling gasped for breath. "That was some ride. Where-."

**"Hello, SplasherQuack, dead square centre. I thought it was a _'reasonable'_ guess."**

SplasherQuack turned quickly to Starling, "get outta the way, you're gonna get blood on you." She vanished.  
Starling jolted, "No!"

* * *

SplasherQuack came at Darkwing Duck. He dodged and threw the weight of her attack over the side of the building. The next moment she reappeared, he cast some sort of shimmering field around her.

"I'm a huge fan of your work, SplasherQuack."

Starling felt a grimness pitting inside him. That was definitely Drake Mallard. **"Now I get to kill him."** On one level he was absolutely okay with the idea. But on another level he still wanted the glory and recognition, to be somebody to people. Without Drake Mallard, that was not going to happen.

* * *

**"Aha! I see you there!"** Drake fired his grapple gun and swung off the roof.

_"Oh, my-gyah-it's three stories up! _You back there."

Starling looked down at the guy with his hands and arms trussed sitting on the ground. "Yeah?" He circled around to see him. "Did he actually 'lasso' you?" He raised an eyebrow.  
"You've got to know he's delu-oh no." The elderly owl's eyes expression deflated.  
**"Oh, I ain't delusional."  
**"Yes, is there a sane and logical reason for going about dressed as a TV Show character?"  
**"I'm a method actor."** Starling answered.  
_"What you're not even-!"  
_Starling glared at the guy. **"I'm playing a heavy, right now; you wanna go with me?"**

"No, I don't; I want you to _'go'_ with him, only you're a civilian so I must insist you don't."  
**"Well, it sounds like a good guy thing to say."  
**"I'm far from saying I'm perfect, but there's a lot to be said for endeavouring. Do not try that door; S.H.U.S.H. security is very tight and they'll have long since restored the systems he interrupted. You'll need to go in the front door. Ask the receptionist for-."

**"Oh forget that!"** Starling exclaimed. **"I'll kill him myself."  
**"Doubtful, sir. Ripperjack just defeated my most powerful agent in two moves."

* * *

The quiet sound of feet on the concrete.

Starling turned, watching Drake coiling up the grapple and rope back into his gas-gun. "You actually got one that works?"  
"Not really; Doctor Bellum made this one so it'll backfire eventually. Because, you know; **killing me is a thing in this place.**" He frowned unenthusiastically.  
"Hey you..." Starling stopped, he sounded better?  
"Yes?" Drake looked at him, waiting.  
"Sorry, I was gonna pay you a compliment: Pfft. Never mind that."  
Drake chuckled, "Thanks."

* * *

Drake took off from the other side of the building with the grapple.

Starling needed to stall and for how long he had no idea.

"Are you really just going to keep chatting with him?" The guy sitting on the ground asked in annoyance.  
Starling snapped around, "I've got a plan! It's just... not a very fast one."  
"At least you seem to be immune to his effects."  
Starling straightened, **"His effects?"**  
The guy shuddered. "The Ripperjack."  
Starling felt annoyed, **"Look, who are you and what effects is he supposed to be having?"**

"I am J Gander Hooter." The elder said with a sober frown, "I'm the director of S.H.U.S.H. and he's put this building in some kind of lock-down; the only thing not under his control is you. Somehow, some way, he doesn't find you sufficiently offensive to him. Goodness knows how you managed that. The fellow has an extremely low tolerance for less than model behaviour."

Starling raised an eyebrow,** "Oh, yeah, so what did you do?"  
**"I didn't file some papers."  
Starling narrowed an eye. "o-okay... so what did you do; burn them?"  
_"No; they're in my cupboard!_ Good heavens. There's no precedent to file open cases and these have been open since before we went to a cloud system."  
Starling stepped back feeling slightly queasy. "He did start going on about his flight instructor's tax returns..."  
Hooter looked up, "SplasherQuack, can you hear me? Are you alright?"

Starling went over to look at the shimmering box around her. "What's he done to you?"  
"Some kind of anti-vampire box. It it really solid." She answered blandly.  
He stared at her, "oh come on. You don't need to dumb it down that much."  
"I really don't know, Darkwing." She answered him quietly, "I just work here. I was dealing with some vampires. I went down. Woke up. Went to deal with the vampires. I dealt with the vampires. I didn't ask questions; I just staked them." She shook her head, "You've got a lot of stuff in your head, and I don't know the half of it. I'm not the mastermind here; you are." She smiled gently at him.

* * *

Feet on concrete.

"You two look pretty cozy."  
**"Had a long day-."** Starling jerked away from SplasherQuack. **"You were a while."  
**"Yeah, a store break-in takes a bit longer to deal with than a mugging."

**"You got this whole thing going up here and it's not enough to entertain you?" **Starling gestured to Hooter.

"No." Drake answered simply. "No offence to you, SplasherQuack, but either I beat you fast, or not at all. You didn't get your code-name by making conversation."  
"You think you've beaten me? That you-."  
"You're in a clo'z'ing box." Drake cut her off. "While losing a battle with a vampire is a more respectable death than the one Hooter orchestrated for me, I felt the need to decline."

_"I didn't try to-!"_

Drake spun around with a growl, rounding on Hooter metres off.  
_"Argh!"_ Hooter shrank back with a shuddering whimper as though he'd been shaken like a rag doll.

Starling felt a strange oppressive darkness around Drake. "Since when did you stop acting this role?"

Drake turned back to stare at him, a yellow tinge to his eyes. Geez. That demon was definitely on board. "One could say I act every role in my life, or conversely one could say, if I put my heart into it; it's not an act." He swerved away.

**"I am the Terror that flaps in the night."**

**"I am the conscience that your act needs."**

**"I am Drake Mallard!"**

* * *

"So... Drake..." Starling edged, "you're holding up the director of S.H.U.S.H., huh?"  
"Is that what he told you?" Drake tsked, "Hooter is a specialist in diplomacy as much as he is in elimination, but that apparently also includes stooping to lying and blatant misdirection of law and order."

Starling considered that. He looked down. **"Is that true?"**

_"No, he's gone into a state of complete delusion. He thinks he's some sort of heir or knight of St Canard, he thinks a government facility like S.H.U.S.H. belongs to him. He-."_

The watch alarm went off.

Starling looked over to Drake, waiting the moment as he removed the bottle from his utility belt.

**"No, you don't!"** He vaulted over and grabbed it.  
"No! What are you?"  
Starling flung the bottle over the edge.

Drake looked over the edge and sank down to a knee, staring down. "...Well played."

_"You weren't even hiding it!"_ Starling exclaimed. _"Anyone'd think you want to die!"_

Drake didn't answer.

Starling blinked in shock. **"Do ya?"**  
"What kind of monster yells at his own mother, Darkwing Duck?"

Starling was incredulous. This kid, seriously. "Ever crossed your mind you might be a bit _harsh_ on the old judgement block?"

* * *

**"Yeah, I see you, buddy!"** Drake raised the grapple and fired, he looked back at Starling, "This roof is great; you really should try it!" He jumped and was off into the distance.

Starling stood there, staring off blankly into the memory of what had just happened.

"I just killed off my leading character..."

**"Aw, heck."** Starling grumbled to himself.

"No way. Can't be that easy." He continued in his thoughts. "He's at least as smart as me. No, that's just what he wants me to think... He's trying to get me back for the flower pot."

* * *

There was a sound of footsteps on the ledge to his left.

Starling looked to see Drake climb up over.

**"You again?"** He jested, **"I thought you'd gone off to die."**

Drake chuckled, "No, I told you; this roof is great. There are two hot-spots directly in view. Only I haven't been able to be up here before, because S.H.U.S.H. have become scared of their own shadow since the incident with the Green Ganderino. There were six snipers on this one roof alone. Just standing around. All day. Every day. Standing ar...ound." He winced.

Starling clenched his teeth. **"You... **figuring how long you got?"**  
**"Well, considering how it was on the first day before the tranquilizers, and how long I've left the symptoms go unchecked all in total, I'd say I have about three hours."

_**"How do you do this?!"** _Starling clenched his fist, "You, SplasherQuack... Just... not care about yourselves?"

"I'm Drake Mallard. My father's a firefighter. My grandfather was a police chief, My great grandfather was a fighter pilot. My great great grandfather was involved in the founding of S.H.U.S.H., my great, great great grandfather was the St Canard County Sheriff, my gre-"

**"I GET IT!"** Starling bellowed, **"get off your high horse."  
**"Yeah, he rode a horse too."

Starling blinked.

Drake chuckled. "You wanna fight over it?"  
"Dunno, you're looking pasty, kid. The mask don't hide that much."

"Especially not when we wear our hearts_sss-gyah! The antijack-Hooter-you-gyah!_"

Drake sank to the ground, he struggled to look around to Hooter, _"You... kill something without understanding it! Worse you've taken me out to do it! You mo-argh!"_ Drake shuddered and collapsed.

* * *

Starling knelt quickly to Drake's side. Shallow breathing.

Nearby the shimmer from the clo'z'ing box disappeared.

_"Oh! My god. Thank goodness." Hooter exclaimed.  
_Starling felt a wall of anger building.  
_"That took forever; what a monster."_

Still breathing, getting steadier.

**"I think you're reading from a diff-." **

"Well done, sir." Hooter interrupted. "That is to say extraordinary. I think you'd make as very good S.H.U.S.H. agent. We could really use such talent for complex problem solving as yours."  
Starling stood up. **"I'm no hero."** He clenched his fist.  
"Oh, you certainly are. Do you have any conceivable idea of how many lives you've just saved?"

**"You really reckon Darkwing Duck was a threat to you?"** He retorted, gesturing angrily down to Drake.  
"No, not... oh, here we go again."

SplasherQuack walked over to Starling. "The Ripperjack. Remember?"  
**"_He didn't look like no Ripperjack to me!_"** Starling disagreed angrily.  
_"Well he certainly did to me, sir!"_ Hooter snapped in equal measure.  
"Oh, sir, let me." SplasherQuack undid the rope around Hooter.

_"Of all the completely reckless lunatics I have ever had the misfortune to weather; that would surely take the cake."_ Hooter stood up, rubbing his wrists. _"An utter conspiracy theorist nutjob."_

Starling raised an eyebrow. "What did he do to tick _'you'_ off?"

_"I! Unlike you, have been stuck on this roof alone with him since lunchtime, sir." _Hooter twitched,_ "he had nothing but the most appalling accusations of my conduct and the most excusatorial declarations for his own questionable conduct. Agent SplasherQuack, please take Drake Mallard to the morgue. Have Doctor Bellum do a full neurological dissection, bisection-trisection-quad-section, and while she's at it, a dissertation on what the heck I was just forced to endure!"_

Hooter pushed past Starling for the door. _"Oh-for-g..."_ He looked at Starling, gesturing to the door, his hand shaking. "I'm not in the best condition right now as you can see, sir."

"Huh, thought you said it was booby trapped." Starling went and untied the rifle from the door handle.  
"No, it's a security system, as unauthorised personnel-."  
"I get it."  
Hooter smiled weakly, "You're quite good. It's a relief to hear some sanity."

* * *

A few minutes later, Starling was waiting, looking around him at all the shut doors. Looking to the level below past the staircase revealed the same kind of layout.

"Huh. What's this side show horror house hiding I wonder? Can rule 'vampires' out."  
Hooter came back through the door.  
"You're looking a bit less pasty." Starling mentioned. "Not by much though."

Hooter breathed, still uneasily. "I can't think how the Ripperjack could have mutated from mindless murder to endless torture; my agent is nothing of the sort. She specialises in physical take-downs."  
**"What about the guy it was in at the time?"** Starling suggested the obvious in a dry tone.  
_"Doctor Bellum's dissection results should turn up something."  
_**"Uh, ri-ight."** Starling hesitated as Hooter breezed on down the stairs.

**"So..."  
**Hooter glanced to him. "Yes?"  
**"Y-ou're supposed to be... good guys, yeah?"  
**"Certainly. We manage overflow matters from the police department. Specialise in the in-ordinary. St Canard is one of the hot-spots for... such activity."

* * *

They stepped down finally onto the first level.

"Now, uh, I'm sorry, I didn't actually get your name in all that, uh 'excitement'?"  
Starling looked flatly at him **"I'm Negaduck."**

"Sir!" A great large bear agent came up in a rush, "You have been missing several hours."  
_"I feel like it was several days in that torture chamber."  
_"Well, very sorry since you have had such a bad day, sir, but..."  
_"Agent Grizlykoff, I'm extremely rattled. What is it?"_

"I am forced under S.H.U.S.H. protocol 1 to freeze all input access codes and put you on temporary suspension of any and all duties, sir."  
Hooter's beak dropped, "Oh, my... he did it, he actually did it?"  
"I am not sure to who or what you are referring, sir."  
"That..." Hooter stopped, "I have no words. No words at all. It's indescribable."  
"One person, sir, usually have name that parent give to him."

"Drake... _Mallard._"

"Ah. Yes, he is to be exceptional agent, h-." Grizlykoff started.  
**_"He's dead, Grizlykoff!"_ **Hooter retorted angrily. _"And the fact that he's dead is a direct result of 'you' trying to make him into something he was not! He was never going to qualify to be an agent; but you insisted on putting the idea into his head! If you had left the matter alone, the antijack wouldn't have triggered before reaching its target and I wouldn't have spent nine hours trapped on the roof with a vicious blood thirsty maniac!"_

Grizlykoff frowned, "Have... good break, sir. Will see you in two days."  
"D... my goodness; days?"  
"Protocol 1."  
_"Assistant Director! Nobody barring _yourself _and that raving psychopath, **who is now dead**, knows what protocol 1 is."  
_"They would if paid attention in training." Grizlykoff said grimly.

Hooter sighed in exasperation. "Why are you calling a protocol 1 on me?"  
"It is not I, sir. Protocol 1 is from computer, sir. It is thing just happens sometime that say we must do a review."  
"Very well, Assistant Director," Hooter said in a bland monotone. "Then I will see you in two days for this review."  
Grizlykoff left.

Starling burst out laughing. "**Chump. Every little piece of your dirty laundry's been strung up on the line."**

Hooter turned to him, "What?"

Starling laughed again. **"Oh, I c-."** He gasped for breath, **"Oh, he's so good he's bad! And your face..."** He pointed at Hooter, **"How does it feel, being run in by the '_knight of St Canard'_?"**

"Oh, you can't be serious! That was entirely the Ripperjack at work." Hooter frowned, "The Assistant Director has a high admiration for the boy's father. If you'd had the chance to meet Drake Mallard before the Ripperjack took him over, you would know that he was an incredibly backwards and 'small' individual."

Starling gazed back at him. Yeah, that was enough. **"I'm gonna pass on that job offer."  
**"Really? That's a shame; we can certainly use people like you."  
**"Yeah, I'm sure you could."** Starling replied dryly and turned for the front door. **"That's why I'm outta here."**

* * *

Starling stormed through the front foyer and out onto the nighttime street.

**"Huh. So, this is the _'real'_ St Canard, huh?"**

At the corner of his eye, Starling caught on something familiar. "Hey, Ratcatcher! You came back!" He jumped and raced to it. The key wasn't in the ignition. Guess so nobody could steal it? He looked into the storage box. His helmet.

A heavy folded piece of paper. He unwrapped the key. There was some writing so fancy-looking it could've been scrawled by an eighty year old.

* * *

_Dear Negaduck._

_According to Director Hooter's hidden files, Doctor Bellum infected me with 'antijack' on his orders. He was so desperate to get SplasherQuack back, he saw me exactly the way he wanted to._

_Hooter's not the first person to hate me. You're not even the first person to hate me. But we get along in a weird sort of way, and him, well, let's just say I'm going to have some terrific fun. Me and the demon make a great team. For the last thirty years, the Ripperjack's been the thing in his nightmares. By the end of today it'll be ME in his nightmares. He will NEVER pull these stupid stunts again._

_Oh, FYI throwing the bottle away isn't going to kill me. This information comes from an extremely trustworthy source._

_Oh boy. I can't wait till you guys get here. I've never fought a vampire before._

_I don't like the idea of blacking out around this guy. Unfortunately Grizlykoff needs time to work the computers, so I'm going to have to trust SplasherQuack to be a half-decent agent, you know, like NOT killing someone who's already been downed. I was worrying about that part of the plan until you made that straight-jacket comment. If you're alright, then I'm going to be alright._

_Hooter's biggest weakness is his feeling of guilt. I am going to terrify him so SO much. When you see him he'll be a total wreck. He will NEVER do this to anyone ever again._

_I'll catch you later, Negaduck!_

_Darkwing Duck_

* * *

Starling half-smiled and put the letter in his jacket. He put the helmet on and sat down on the seat.

"Why does he keep calling you 'Negaduck'?"

Starling froze, his smile fading. **"SplasherQuack."  
**"Nice wheels." Sitting behind him, she traced her fingers along the handlebar and up his arm.  
**"Yeah..."  
**"You're new in town and I haven't been here in a while so how about some sight seeing? East side cemetery's usually pretty fun at this hour."  
"Ugh. You're completely messed up." He rejected.

"Ever played a game called _'cemetery dash'?"_

He smiled. **"Now _that_ sounds like a party! Which way?"**


End file.
